?•:'•< 


7, 


fancy  j-Hotiirr  liUrs  best  ttir  toorfe  slir  cannot  Do 
— tijat  i0— tfje  toorb  sffje  must  bo  (tofjateber 
it  be)  tiors  not  appeal  to  tier  imagination. 

page     43 


QF  CiLIP.  LIBR1HY,  LOS  ANGELES 


ij)  ^tn)  g'urA 


Copyright,  1910,  by 
Dodge  Publishing  Company 


TO 
THE  MASTERFUL  ONE 


2138071 


Facing  Page 

I  fancy  Mother  likes  best  the  work  she  cannot 

do Title 

You   were   not   especially   cordial  with  your 

Mother    10 

"Sure!"  replied  the  charwoman    12 

Aunty  Catharine  is  Mother's  lovingest  sister  .  .  16 

The  two  spots 18 

A  red-headed  girl  drove  up  to  us     

I  was  wind-milling  at  the  time 24 

I  never  wanted  to  be  anybody's  mother! 28 

We've  had  a  guest  to-day 32 

But  you  swing  with  your  whole  little  weight  .  .  38 

I've  done  the  best  I  could,  Mis'  Carr 

I  don't  mind  the  short  spasms  of  temper 52 

Father  was  evidently  displeased 68 

The  lovely  lady  is  my  Father's  Mother   

We've  had  such  a  wonderful  spin    76 

Where  shall  we  go?  86 

The  day  after  Mother  broke  the  Sabbath   ....  98 

7 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Oh,  dear  girl,  you  know  what  I  mean!  1 20 

Chicken  winking  1 34 

Bent  upon  their  favorite  game  of  yelling 1 42 

Some  silk-lined  lady  comes  to  call  on  us 148 

And  pulled  the  cloth  off  the  table  1 52 

I  turned  to  her  a  tear-stained  little  face  1 54 

It  is  very  wonderful  out-of-doors  here 1 58 

Daddy  came  back  and  found  me  too  much  .  .  1 66 
But  the  down-stairs  lady  pretended  she  had 

never  met  Mother  ....." 1 76 

Daddy  has  made  me  a  sand-pile  1 80 

They  let  me  out  to  roam  the  neighborhood  .  .  1 82 

How  is  Martha,  these  days? 1 86 

It  does  everything  you  do 1 92 

Each  bites  the  other 1 96 

Daresay  the  sand  man  is  one  of  the  same  lot  .  .  1 98 

I  took  a  fall  out  of  that  duck  202 

Breakfast  was  a  chokey  sort  of  an  affair 210 

A  kiss  for  the  kid  222 

Our  physician  glanced  over  the  wreck  228 

"Son!"  this  often  comes  from  Father  262 

I  have  also  a  large  nudging  acquaintance  among 

the  newsboys 266 

The  new  home  has  a  yard  268 

They  almost  choked  her  off  the  census  270 

Mother  and  I  went  for  a  walk  to-day 282 

I  like  the  China-boy  who  takes  our  washing  .  .  284 


The  LIFE  OF    ME 


CHAPTER  I 

DEAR  me!     Everything  has  been  in  such  con- 
fusion that  only  now  am  I  able  to  think.     I 
am  in  the  "Private  Patients'  Nursery"  in  a 
tiny  white  iron  bed,  and  I  am  dressed  in  a  hospital 
uniform  that  looks  a  bit  coarse  to  me.     On  my  left 
wrist  I  notice  a  tag  on  which  is  neatly  printed  the 
word  "Carr."      Can?    I  imagine  that  may  be  my 
name,  but  I  don't  see  why  they  feel  they  must  label  me. 
Surely,  I  don't  look  like  an  Izenbaum,  an  Andro- 
votsky,  or  a  Cofferini! 

I  just  glanced  up  to  see  bending  over  me  a  lady 
with  floating  black  clouds  on  her  hat  and  a  white 
ruche  next  her  face.  With  her  was  a  good  looking 
gentleman  who  said  brokenly,  "Sonny?"  Strange  he 
could  not  read  Carr  on  my  tag.  The  lady  seemed 
to  be  sobbing  to  herself.  They  both  touched  me 
gingerly,  as  though  I  might  fade  away  into  a  mem- 


10  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m ^ 

ory  if  they  patted  me  too  firmly.  Just  then  in  came 
the  Head  One  of  the  Big  White  Aprons  and  the 
Little  White  Caps;  and  grabbing  my  skirts,  she  drew 
me  onto  her  left  hand  as  one  might  do  with  a  rag 
doll.  Rudely  snipping  the  palms  of  my  hands  with 
her  strong  fingers,  she  exclaimed — right  out  loud  and 
before  everybody,  quite  as  if  I  were  accustomed  to 
large  noises — "Wake  up  here,  you  young  rascal! 
Say  how-do-you-do  to  your  father  and  your  cousin- 
once-removed."  She  did  not  mention  what  the  cou- 
sin was  removed  from.  Soon  they  all  left  me.  Per- 
sonally, I  think  I  should  enjoy  something  to  eat. 

One  of  the  young  White  Aprons  just  brought  me 
back  from  a  visit  with  an  ill,  dreamy  sort  of  lady, 
who  looked  up  from  her  pillows  wearily  as  I  was 
unearthed  from  a  bundle  of  flannels,  and  said,  "Is 
this  it?" 

"It  certainly  is!"  briskly  answered  the  White 
Apron.  "This  is  a  fine  boy — a  regular  prize-fighter 
of  a  baby." 

The  dreamy  lady  looked  pained  when  I  yelled, 


"|9ou    toere    not    especially    corotal    tottfj    pour 
fflotfjer,  poung  man."  page    1 1 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  11 

but  she  did  not  make  any  comments  upon  me,  or 
take  the  trouble  to  start  a  conversation;  she  just  cried 
and  cried  and — cried.  I  was  glad  enough  when 
the  White  Apron  took  me  away,  scolding  me  severely 
thus:  "You  were  not  especially  cordial  with  your 
mother,  young  man!" 

My  Mother — the  dreamy  lady?  I  seem  to  be 
quite  rich.  I  have  a  Father,  a  Mother,  a  Cousin 
and  a  tag-once-removed.  But  I  would  trade  them 
all  for  something  to  eat.  This  hospital  smells  so 
clean,  I  fear  I  shall  take  cold.  Here  comes  the  Head 
One  with  a  big  man  dressed  in  white  linens! 

"Isn't  our  new  private  patient  splendid,  Doctor?" 
she  observed.  If  I  am  so  terribly  "private,"  I  wish 
they  would  let  me  alone  for  a  while. 

"Fine  pup,"  replied  the  medical  giant,  poking 
all  of  his  huge  fingers  into  me  near  my  poor  little 
empty  stomach.  Wouldn't  you  suppose  a  physi- 
cian would  know  better  than  to  be  so  un-gentle, 
considering  I  am  not  his  size?  The  "professional 
touch"  may  have  its  advantages,  but  I  call  it  rough.  I 


12  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

have  gathered  from  fragments  of  talk  that  the  big 
man  is  the  head  doctor  of  the  hospital.  If  he  waits 
for  me  to  return  his  call  before  coming  here  again,  I 
have  already  seen  the  last  of  him,  which  pleases  me. 

I  fancy  I  must  be  somebody  in  particular,  so  many 
people  have  dropped  in  to  see  me  to-day.  The 
elevator  boy  just  stuck  his  head  in  the  door  and  peeped 
at  me.  It  is  well  the  Head  One  did  not  catch  him. 
All  the  White  Aprons  and  the  White  Caps  have  been 
in.  Most  of  them  think  me  pretty.  Possibly  I  am, 
but  I  feel  a  bit  wrinkled  and  red  in  the  face.  If  I 
ever  get  anything  in  my  stomach,  it  may  help  to  tone 
down  the  flush. 

"How  different  he  looks  from  the  babies  in  the 
Free  Patients'  wards,  doesn't  he?"  flatteringly  asked 
a  tall,  thin  White  Apron. 

"Sure!"  replied  the  charwoman,  who  stood  in 
the  doorway  with  a  bucket  of  water  when  she  should 
have  been  washing  down  the  stairs.  "Sure,  ye'd 
know  in  a  minnit  he  wasn't  a  Dago!"  It  is  a  good 
thing  the  Head  One  did  not  catch  her! 


ffeft!  iqinw  tmw 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  13 

And  what  bad  manners  all  these  people  have  to 
be  talking  about  me  before  myself  this  way!  Do 
they  imagine  that  because  I  am  a  sort  of  foreigner 
with  no  ability  to  speak  their  language,  I  don't  under- 
stand it?  One  visitor  to-day  has  interested  me  great- 
ly. I  awoke  from  a  nap  to  see  a  stunning  young  man 
at  the  foot  of  my  crib,  gazing  down  at  me  intently. 
He  has  a  wonderful  smile,  and  a  fine  head,  too,  and 
amber  eyes  that  twinkle  and  are  deep  set.  "Hello, 
old  man!"  he  said  to  me  pleasantly  and  as  though 
he  respected  me  (different  from  the  rest).  "It  is  a 
hot  day,  isn't  it?"  I  did  not  speak,  so  he  went  on  in 
the  most  friendly  way,  "How  goes  the  great  big 
world  with  you?  My!  but  I  was  glad  to  hear  you 
cry  this  morning — you  scared  me  to  death  for  a  while!" 

Why  do  you  suppose  everybody  is  so  aggressively 
glad  to  hear  me  cry?  I  will  do  all  the  crying  they 
want  to  listen  to,  if  they  just  give  me  time.  I  won- 
der who  this  nice  man  is — the  one  with  the  real  man- 
ners? He  is  not  very  old,  and  he  looks  foot-ballish 
to  me.  He  touched  my  cheek  with  the  back  of 


14  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

rag Era 

ESs"""  — BS 

his  forefinger  sweetly,  and  with  the  consideration  due 
one  gentleman  from  another  (for  which  I  am  grateful, 
after  the  choppy-sea  handling  I  have  had  so  far!), 
he  said,  "Bye-bye,  old  chap — I'll  see  you  to-morrow!" 

What  is  to-morrow?    Oh,  yes — I   think  I   know. 

I  have  found  out  who  he  is — he  of  the  amber  eyes 
and  blue  serge.  All  I  had  to  do  to  find  out  was  to 
wait.  He  is  Mother's  Special  Physician.  He  calls 
me  "Bill"  and  he  can  make  his  straw  hat  go  round 
and  round  on  his  finger.  Very  nice.  I  heard  some- 
one say  my  real  name  is  Richard,  but  that  I  am  to 
be  called  Dicklet.  But  Bill  suits  me  very  well  as 
the  Doctor  says  it. 

There  is  a  sameness  to  hospital  life,  and  after  many 
days  that  could  not  be  told  apart  from  other  days, 
we  are  leaving  this  afternoon. 

Like  most  well-regulated  hospitals,  ours  is  in  the 
Slums,  and  when  we  came  out  to  get  in  the  carriage 
that  Father  had  waiting  for  us,  we  found  gathered 
on  the  steps  and  about  the  horses  dozens  of  little 
Slumists,  all  eyes  and  curiosity.  Cousin  Martha 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  15 

carried  me  (I  found  out  she  is  Mother's  cousin),  and 
I  caught  several  remarks  upon  how  interesting  she 
looked  in  her  deep  mourning  with  the  wee  white 
bundle  of  me  in  her  arms.  Everybody  turned  out  to 
say  goodbye,  and  we  drove  off  in  style,  let  me  tell  you. 

Rumor  must  have  got  in  ahead  of  us  at  the  apart- 
ment house.  They  say  that  rumor  often  gets  in  ahead 
of  one.  The  hall  boys  and  the  janitor  and  his  family 
were  all  hanging  around  the  entrance  to  the  building, 
ready  to  look  us  over,  and  to  extend  a  welcome  if 
we  came  up  to  their  expectations. 

"He  sure  is  a  fine  baby,  Mis'  Carr,  and  we  sure  is 
glad  to  see  you-all  back!"  said  Charley,  as  he  sent 
his  car  flying  to  the  seventh  floor. 

In  our  apartment,  Blanche  had  everything  just 
shining  to  greet  Mother,  who  seemed  to  appreciate 
it  in  her  tired  way,  remarking  sadly  that  she  felt  as 
though  she  had  been  gone  a  thousand  years.  I 
like  Blanche!  She  is  a  loving  little  darky.  "Pud- 
dins!"  she  confided  to  me  affectionately,  "we-all  is 
goin*  ter  be  so  happy!" 


16  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

[ffij  [ffij 

The  janitor  has  just  been  up  to  call  on  me,  all  beams, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  tenants  are  not  expected 
to  have  babies — dogs  and  children  not  being  allowed 
in  this  building. 

Aunty  Catherine  and  her  brand  new  husband  are 
in  New  York  on  their  honeymoon,  and  they  came 
here  to-day.  Aunty  Catherine  is  Mother's  lovingest 
sister.  We  were  all  delighted  at  seeing  them,  but 
we  got  too  excited,  and  when  they  were  gone,  Mother's 
Special  Physician  leaned  forward  on  the  brass  rail- 
ing at  the  foot  of  Mother's  bed,  and  with  the  amber 
eyes  narrowed  a  little  and  the  strong  jaw  set  in  an- 
noyance, he  said,  "I  think  it  advisable  you  should 
go  a  little  slow  on  society  for  awhile,  Mrs.  Carr!" 

"Yes,  Doctor,"  Mother  replied,  meekly. 

Naturally,  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  my  Mother 
very  well,  for  we  haven't  been  friends  long,  but  I 
venture  to  say  that  my  Mother  is  not  meek  with  many 
people. 


tf. 


CHAPTER  II 

THERE  has  been  so  much  going  on — dear  me! 
Our  little  apartment  where  we  have  been  but 
a  week  or  so,  now  is  filled  up  with  trunks  and 
we  seem  to  be  going  somewhere  for  the  summer. 
Cousin  Martha  and  Father  keep  telling  my  Mother 
not  to  worry.  They  urge  her  to  lie  down  and  trust 
them  to  see  that  everything  is  all  right.  I  should 
judge  from  the  two  purple-red  spots  on  Mother's 
cheek  bones  that  she  finds  it  hard  to  lie  down  and 
trust  someone  else;  and  from  her  almost  pathetic 
effort  not  to  say  anything  sharp,  I  should  infer  that 
Mother  argues  it  is  a  mistake  to  leave  one's  packing 
until  three  hours  before  train  time.  Our  Special 
Physician  came  in  this  morning,  and  stepping  over 
boxes  and  around  packing  cases,  he  found  his  way 
to  the  foot  of  Mother's  bed.  The  two  spots  on 

Mother's  cheeks  did  not  escape  his  practiced  eye.  ^ 

17 


18  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

"Why  don't  you  stop  worrying,  Mrs.  Carr?"  he 
demanded,  with  what  I  felt  to  be  a  flattering  intima- 
tion he  knew  Mother  very  well.  I  thought  he  might 
well  have  applied  his  excellent  suggestion  to  himself, 
for  he  looked  worried  too. 

As  for  me,  I  did  not  move.  I  am  glad  enough  to 
stay  still  when  they  will  let  me.  You  see,  Cousin 
Martha  has  been  bathing  me  for  the  last  few  days, 
and  it  is  nervous  work  for  us  both.  In  the  first  place 
we  have  a  rubber  tub  that  shuts  up,  and  the  ladies 
have  not  yet  learned  how  to  fasten  the  legs  so  that  I 
may  be  spared  the  uncomfortable  feeling  that  each 
minute  the  tub  is  going  to  collapse  and  drown  me, 
flood  the  floor,  sink  the  ceiling  of  the  apartment  be- 
low, and  prove  the  last  straw  to  my  tired  Mother. 

Cousin  Martha  cries  all  night  instead  of  sleeping 
— I  know,  you  see,  because  I  wake  up  at  queer  times 
and  see  the  light  in  her  room.  She  isn't  used  to  little 
people  like  me,  and  she  seems  to  think  I  am  going  to 
vanish,  or  crack,  or  stiffen  out  and  die  on  short  notice. 
Really,  there  isn't  anything  peculiar  about  persons 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  19 

of  three  weeks'  age,  except  that  we  are  indefinite, 
limber,  and  in  consequence,  slippery.  The  Big 
White  Aprons  handled  me  most  pronouncedly,  and 
at  the  time  I  did  not  like  it,  but  on  the  whole  it  is 
safer  treatment  than  being  handled  as  though  one 
were  an  intangible  nightmare,  or  an  egg  with  a  shell 
as  thin  as  a  breath.  Especially  so  where  wabbly 
bath  tubs  and  real  water  are  concerned. 

Our  daily  sieges  usually  end  in  Mother's  falling 
back  into  the  pillows,  exhausted,  in  my  clinging  to 
whatever  rigging  is  available,  and  in  poor  little 
Cousin  Martha's  having  a  fit  of  hysterics.  I  sup- 
pose they  get  me  clean.  I  hope  it  repays  them. 
Personally,  I  would  as  soon  be  left  in  the  degrada- 
tion of  my  soft  and  slightly  crumpled  gown.  When 
I  am  older  and  get  a  good  deal  of  real  dirt  and  jam 
on  me,  and  I  need  baths,  I  probably  shall  not  be  getting 
more  than  two  a  week. 

Such  a  confused  day  this  has  been!  Here  it  is 
the  middle  of  the  night,  and  I  lie  in  my  little  white^ 
canvas  bed  that  they  brought  from  town  and  hitched 


20  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

onto  the  side  of  Mother's  bed,  in  a  house  that  stands 
by  much  water  that  beats  upon  cliffs  and  sands, 
making  even  more  noise  than  New  York  beating 
upon  itself  with  its  own  life.  Mother's  hand  just 
found  mine  and  it  recalled  the  worried  expression  of 
Mother's  Special  Physician's  eyes  when  he  saw  the 
purple-red  spots  on  her  cheeks.  I  presume  it  must 
have  been  very  trying  to  Mother  to  take  that  wild 
drive  we  had  in  making  the  train.  Why,  that  drive 
almost  excited  me.  The  way  we  flew  around  among 
the  traffic,  cut  over  tracks,  and  shot  under  the  very 
frown  of  complaining  automobiles,  was  a  caution. 
Father  held  his  watch  and  said  they  had  done  a  fine 
job  to  get  ready  in  time,  while  Cousin  Martha  held 
me  tight.  There  seemed  to  be  strength  in  her  grasp, 
but  it  was  a  kind  of  automatic  strength,  for  I  felt  the 
spirit  of  her  to  be  very  far  off  somewhere,  suffering. 
Mother  formed  a  dejected  heap  of  pains  of  various 
kinds,  and  I  could  feel  that  she  was  more  or  less  numb 
— her  hands  moving  only  when  necessary,  and  her 
mind  working  not  at  all. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  21 

m ^ 

Finally  we  got  out  of  the  carriage  and  walked  to 
the  boat,  and  it  was  a  long  way  for  all  of  us,  except 
me.  The  responsibility  of  me  lay  heavy  in  Cousin 
Martha's  arms.  And  Father  was  distressed  because 
no  invalid  chair  could  be  found  for  Mother,  who 
showed  in  her  expression  that  the  world  was  slipping 
out  from  under  her.  I  began  to  howl,  and  Cousin 
Martha  carried  me  up  and  down  the  ladies'  cabin, 
utterly  oblivious  of  the  stares  of  the  other  passengers, 
who  openly  showed  their  interest  in  her.  Some  of 
them  whispered  things  about  what  a  shame  it  was 
for  her  to  have  been  left  with  a  tiny  baby  on  her 
hands!  This  revived  Mother  sufficiently  to  feel  a 
touch  of  jealousy,  for  she  got  no  notice  at  all — and 
she  was  the  Mother  of  me. 

If  the  New  York  station  seemed  long  to  us,  there 
are  no  words  to  express  the  feeling  of  length  that 
came  to  us,  as  we  trudged  the  Staten  Island  sheds 
to  the  funny  little  local  train.  I  was  concerned  about 
Mother,  who  was  walking  like  a  machine.  Seeing 
into  her  mind  as  I  do,  and  having  my  own  private 


22  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Kza rag 

BS  — GSJ 

method  of  reading  it,  even  better  than  she  does  her- 
self, I  was  aware  that  she  was  practically  unconscious. 

We  passed  many  real  rocks  and  saw  several  real 
trees,  and  got  a  whiff  of  real  air  now  and  then,  in 
spite  of  the  smoke  that  came  into  the  car.  They 
kept  the  cinders  out  of  my  blinking  eyes,  which  gave 
them  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  my  eye-lashes,  which 
they  told  each  other,  were  long  and  dark.  My  eyes, 
I  think  are  blue,  though  so  long  as  one  can  see  with 
his  eyes  it  would  seem  as  though  the  color  ought  to 
make  no  difference.  Also,  I  don't  look  so  "goopy" 
as  some  persons  of  helpless  age,  and  I  can  hold 
up  my  own  head,  which  signifies  that  I  am  either 
lighter  on  brains  than  most  persons  so  young,  or  that 
I  am  smarter  than  the  average. 

Well,  after  many  jarrings,  we  got  out  at  our  station, 
where  a  red-headed  girl  drove  up  to  us  with  a  limping, 
sluggish,  old  horse  and  broken-down  surrey.  The 
prominent  ribs  of  the  horse  indicated  to  me  that  his 
food  was  not  properly  pasteurized.  As  we  drowsily 
ambled  past  the  village  saloon  which  was  run  by  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  23 

father  of  Miss  Red  Hairs,  the  old  man  sang  out, 
"Ach  Mina !  you  drife  dat  horse  easy  on  dis  hot  day, 
py  Gott!"  The  cloud  in  my  Mother's  eyes  drifted 
a  little  to  one  side.  I  think  she  would  have  smiled, 
if  she  could  have  freed  herself  from  the  conviction 
that  she  owed  it  to  the  others  to  do  so.  But  that 
poor  little  smile,  having  stood  for  an  instant  by  the 
side  of  duty,  died  right  there.  I  fancy  my  Mother 
does  not  like  duty. 

And  now  we  are  in  a  house  that  has  been  shut  up 
for  days  in  the  damp  sea  air,  and  it  is  cold  and  musty. 
My  Mother  is  fretting,  and  there  seems  to  be  a  fire, 
a  very  large,  wild  fire  starting  in  her  soul.  I  fear  she 
may  not  be  able  to  get  up  in  the  morning.  I  cannot 
see  my  Mother,  but  I  feel  those  purple-red  spots  on 
her  cheeks,  only  now  they  are  redder  and  more  purple 
than  they  have  been  before.  And  there  is  great 
pounding  of  the  waters  against  the  shore,  and  there  are 
still  greater  poundings  in  my  Mother's  brain.  Every- 
body but  Mother  and  myself  is  fast  asleep. 

This  morning  I  heard  my  Mother  say  to  Cousin 


24  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Martha,  quite  calmly,  that  she  thought  she  was  going 
to  die.  But  I  don't  believe  she  is,  because  the  mo- 
ment Father  went  in  haste  to  telephone  for  her 
Special  Physician,  she  lost  the  sinking  sensation 
that  was  so  strong  in  her  that  it  upset  me,  too. 
And  an  hour  later  Mother  remarked  that  she  pre- 
ferred her  pink  negligee  to  her  blue  one — it  was  more 
.becoming.  I  was  very  glad  there  was  some  mo- 
mentous question  such  as  this  for  my  Mother  to  decide — 
I  believe  it  just  averted  a  crisis.  While  all  the  excite- 
ment was  going  on,  a  big  black  thing  with  four  legs 
came  up  to  my  canvas  bed,  and  sniffed — right  in  my 
face.  I  was  wind-milling  at  the  time  (throwing  my 
arms  around,  you  understand,  and  kicking  out  to  get 
a  bit  of  exercise),  and  I  daresay  I  frightened  the  beast, 
for,  after  a  few  more  sniffs,  he  walked  off,  disgusted 
that  he  had  been  effectually  bluffed,  no  doubt.  This 
was  another  thing  that  helped  to  pull  my  Mother 
back  to  a  safe  hold  on  Life.  "Blanche!"  she  called, 
feebly,  "Blanche,  you  must  keep  this  rented  dog 
out  of  here — I  cannot  abide  dogs!"  I  inferred  that 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  25 

our  inventory  included  a  dog — possibly  we  could  not 
have  got  the  place  without  him. 

Blanche  came  in,  grinning  as  usual,  and  grabbed 
the  cur  by  the  collar,  saying,  "Mis'  Carr,  de  groc'y 
man  do  say  dis  here  dog  am  a  reg'lar  debble  of  a 
dog,  an'  named  Bill.  He  already  done  killed  off 
ev'y  cat  fer  miles,  an'  all  de  neighb'hood  dogs  is  tore 
up  more  or  less,  an'  peddlers  am  plum  scared  to  def 
of  him!"  Mother  was  too  weak  to  reprove  Blanche 
for  her  use  of  a  swearing  word,  and  anyway,  she 
wouldn't  have  had  time,  for  Blanche  rattled  on, 
"Mis'  Carr,  dey  am  a  great  big  hat  up  in  de  attic. 
Kin  I  borrer  it,  please  mam?  You  see,  a  person 
gits  so  dark  walking  out  in  de  hot  sun  ob  dese  here 
roads!" 

From  odd  bits  of  things,  I  have  gathered  two 
items:  that  in  renting  this  cottage  we  rented  also  a 
dog  named  Bill,  and  that  all  the  water  has  to  be 
hand-pumped  from  a  well  under  the  kitchen  to  a 
tank  in  the  attic.  Blanche  has  at  this  early  date 
given  it  out  that  "she  ain't-a-goin-ta  pump  no  mo* 


26  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

E%|  '  |§ 

water — she  promised  St.  Paul  she  wouldn't!"  I 
was  relieved  to  hear  this,  for  it  gave  me  hope  of 
getting  rid  of  my  bath.  But  no!  Cousin  Martha 
went  down  herself  and  pumped  up  water  enough, 
getting  her  muscle  in  good  shape  before  taking  it 
out  on  me.  I  was  terrified  at  her  vehemence,  and  I 
clung  to  her  black  waist  with  my  little  desperate 
wet  hands,  while  she  called  out  to  Mother,  "How 
soon  do  you  suppose  we  can  take  this  child  into  the 
ocean?"  You  ought  to  have  heard  me  yell  at  that 
suggestion! 

In  a  few  days  they  got  Mother  up  and  helped  her 
down  onto  the  big  porch,  for  my  Artist  Uncle  was 
coming,  and  Mother  was  giving  signs  of  serious  bore- 
dom at  being  kept  in  bed.  Besides,  although  she 
did  not  mention  it  to  anyone,  still  I  knew  she  could 
no  longer  endure  the  sound  of  the  motor  boats  that 
chug-chugged  by  all  the  time — the  beating  noise 
they  made  reminded  her  of  the  way  the  chloroform 
beat  in  her  head  not  long  ago.  The  similarity 
seemed  to  fill  her  with  horror  and  she  could  not  stand 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  27 

it  in  the  close  quarters  of  her  room.  And  so  my 
Mother  went  to  the  porch  and  fell  into  a  big  chair 
next  to  my  carriage.  She  felt  more  old  than  ever, 
but  still  she  appreciated  the  lovely  colors  of  the  waters 
and  the  sky,  after  the  sun  was  gone,  leaving  its  only 
light  on  a  sail  miles  out  at  sea.  The  bay  as  it  looked 
then  recalled  a  painting  of  my  Artist  Uncle's  and  when 
he  arrived  (and  had  acknowledged  that  I  compared 
favorably  with  his  own  son  of  helpless  age),  Mother 
told  him  that  only  now  while  sitting  here  had  she 
been  able  to  realize  that  anything  so  lovely  as  his 
picture,  "Evening"  ever  existed  in  reality. 

"You  will  find,"  drawled  my  droll  Artist  Uncle, 
"that  every  once  in  a  while  Nature  gets  around  to 
Art!" 

But  even  this  little  bit  of  diversion  was  too  much 
for  Mother,  and  she  lay  awake  all  night  long,  while 
her  nerves  tortured  her  to  the  verge  of  insanity,  and 
there  was  great  pain  at  the  base  of  her  brain.  I 
was  awake  wind-milling,  myself,  much  of  the  time,  and* 
I,  too,  could  hear  the  heavy  waters  beating  upon  the 


28  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m ii 

rocks  and  the  sands.  I,  too,  was  conscious  that  as 
the  waters  beat,  so  also  beat  waves  of  pain  in  my 
Mother's  soul.  I  could  hear  her  thoughts,  and  if 
she  had  not  been  an  ill  lady,  I  should  have  been 
shocked  and  greatly  hurt. 

"There  is  no  use  trying  to  deceive  myself!"  some 
wicked  spirit  was  saying  in  her  mind.  "I  am  not 
happy — I  can  never  be  happy!  I  never  wanted  to 
be  anybody's  mother!  It  does  not  run  in  our  family 
to  care  for  our  mothers.  There  has  been  war  be- 
tween the  mothers  and  the  children  for  generations, 
and  it  will  be  so — always.  This  never  should  have 
come  to  me.  It  is  a  merciless  trial  to  both  the  child 
and  myself,  and  it  is  all  wrong.  I  wish  I  were  dead. 
I  wish — I  wish  I  could  wake  in  the  morning  to  find — " 
Just  here  I  stopped  breathing  and  lay  still,  it  was  so 
awful.  "I  wish,"  that  evil  spirit  was  whispering 
to  my  Mother  again,  "I  wish — God  hear  me! — I 
wish  I  should  wake  in  the  morning  to  find  that  this 
child  was  gone!" 

I  went  on  wind-milling  once  more.    Everything 


II 

ipetler  ti)a:j)ie<l  iojfc  jWWS 

C^^ 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  29 

was  painfully  quiet,  except  for  the  waters  pounding 
on  the  rocks  and  the  sands,  and  the  suffering  pounding 
in  my  Mother's  brain.  I  was  too  sorrowed  for  my 
Mother  to  feel  hurt  for  myself,  but  as  I  have  not  yet 
learned  the  up-growns'  ways  of  communicating  with 
each  other,  I  hardly  knew  how  to  express  my  sym- 
pathy for  my  crying  Mother. 

At  last  it  occurred  to  me  to  cough  very  gently, 
which  I  did.  Instantly  her  eyes  stopped  their  wild 
staring  into  the  night,  and  she  turned  to  my  canvas 
bed  with  difficulty.  Tenderly,  she  sent  her  sensitive 
hand  all  over  me  to  see  that  the  little  blankets  were 
well  up,  and  then  she  got  one  of  my  hands.  I  went 
on  wind-milling,  except  for  this  one  hand  which 
I  let  her  have  in  hers.  I  let  it  lie  there  peacefully 
and  lovingly,  while  the  rest  of  me  wriggled  and  tossed 
and  kicked  and  wind-milled.  It  was  far  too  dark 
to  see,  but  I  feel  more  than  most  up-grown  persons 
ever  see,  and  so  it  was  that  I  knew  scalding  tears 
were  falling  on  the  purple-red  spots  on  my  Mother's, 
cheeks. 


30  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

And  after  a  while  the  night  outside  the  east  window 
turned  to  hopeful  tints  of  gray,  and  then  to  many 
and  marvelous  shades  of  blue.  Soon  there  were 
daring  lights  of  gold  and  red  streaking  the  blues,  and  I 
heard  a  little  land  bird  sing,  and  something  flew  by 
in  a  hurry — I  think  it  was  a  sea-gull.  And  my 
Mother  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  III 

THERE  seems  to  be  a  good  deal  of  "snooping" 
going  on  in  this  place.  The  edict  has  gone 
forth  that  I  am  to  be  put  in  my  bed  and  let  stay 
there,  howling  or  no  howling;  but  I  have  remarked  that 
Mother  comes  up  stairs  at  odd  moments  to  see  if  I 
am  covered,  and  through  the  open  windows  I  some- 
times catch  Cousin  Martha's  voice  saying  she  thinks 
she  will  run  up  to  her  room  for  her  handkerchief — 
but  really,  it  is  only  an  excuse  to  come  in  here  to  see  me. 
When  they  are  at  dinner,  I  often  hear  the  bell  rung 
twice  for  Blanche,  who  is  supposed  to  be  in  the 
kitchen,  but  who  has  sneaked  up  here  to  kiss  my 
hands.  Not  infrequently  the  odor  of  tobacco  can  be 
detected  on  my  cheeks,  which,  by  some  persons, 
might  be  regarded  as  damaging  circumstantial  evidence 
against  Father.  And  several  times  lately,  I  have* 

been  waked  by  rays  of  delight  radiating  from  three 

31 


32  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

faces  that  were  leaning  over  my  bed  before  going  to 
sleep  themselves.  There  seem  to  be  endless  fresh 
air  arguments,  too.  Mother  thinks  I  ought  to  be 
hardened,  but  Cousin  Martha  maintains  that  I  should 
not  be  subjected  to  "regular  typhoons,"  as  she  calls 
the  soft  sea  air  that  sifts  into  the  room  in  a  straight 
line  sometimes.  Father  generally  ends  the  discussion 
by  saying  he  would  appreciate  it  if  the  ladies  would 
give  him  a  rest.  I  am  sure  Father  and  I  are  going 
to  be  very  congenial.  But  in  the  meantime  I  wager 
I  am  blown  out  of  this  bed  some  evening! 

We've  had  a  guest  to-day  who  says  I  am  a  fair 
looking  kid,  but  he'd  rather  have  me  set  to  work 
at  that  everlasting  pump  than  to  be  broken  in  him- 
self. Father  says  he  is  going  to  ask  all  the  men  he 
knows  to  visit  us,  and  having  got  his  victim  in  a 
bathing  suit  which  is  cool  and  comfortable,  he  is 
going  to  suggest  that  they  limber  up  their  muscles  on 
the  pump  before  taking  a  dip.  He  has  succeeded 
in  having  the  tank  filled  by  this  scheme  three  times 
so  far,  but  I  am  wondering  if  his  acquaintance  is  large 


<*U  Li 

wew  had  a  <w< 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  33 

H li 

enough  to  admit  of  his  bringing  a  man  home  with 
him  each  time  the  tank  runs  dry.  Judging  from  the 
hard  breathing  of  the  visitors,  I  doubt  if  the  same 
man  ever  comes  twice. 

When  Mother  and  I  were  on  the  porch  together 
this  afternoon,  we  saw  a  beach-combing  gentleman 
filling  a  sack  with  drift  wood  from  our  private  sands 
— which,  incidentally,  seem  to  be  about  as  private 
as  I  was  when  we  lived  at  the  hospital.  Bill  saw 
him  first,  and  dashed  for  him,  growling,  snarling  and 
threateningly  showing  his  teeth.  The  only  escape 
the  infuriated,  menacing  animal  allowed  the  panic- 
stricken  wood-picker  was  the  open  sea,  which  exit 
did  not  seem  to  appeal  to  him.  He  struck  at  the  dog 
and  threw  sticks,  and  tried  to  protect  himself  by  a 
kind  of  South  Sea  dance  behind  his  sack.  At  last 
he  caught  sight  of  Mother  and  called  to  her,  "Say, 
lady,  can't  you  yell  to  this  dog?" 

"I  could,"  Mother  sang  back  in  friendly  tones, 
"but  it  would  not  do  a  bit  of  good — he  never, 
obeys  me." 


34  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m & 

"Does  he  bite?"  screamed  the  man. 

"The  people  who  know  him  best  say  he  does,  I 
believe,"  sweetly  replied  Mother. 

At  this  scant  comfort  the  beach-combing  gentle- 
man dropped  his  wood,  and  making  a  leap  past  the 
dog,  he  tore  for  the  village,  uttering  broken  language 
to  whom  it  might  concern,  as  Bill  helped  himself 
to  a  flying  trip  on  one  trpuser  leg. 

This  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  my  Mother  smile. 
The  smile  was  a  revelation.  My  Mother  looked 
young,  and  I  have  been  thinking  of  her  as  being  of  a 
thousand  years'  age.  Possibly  I  can  persuade  her 
that  I  am  worth  while,  though,  frankly,  until  to-day  I 
have  been  discouraged.  But  things  are  more  hopeful 
now — my  Mother  can  smile. 

We  heard  to-day  from  the  fish-peddler  who  al- 
ways telephones  over  to  find  out  if  Bill  is  at  home, 
(if  so,  where?),  before  appearing  himself,  that  the 
owner  of  our  cottage  never  got  out  for  less  than  a  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year  to  the  veterinary  surgeon,  and  this 
only  covered  Bill's  own  disfigurements.  He  never 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  35 

assumed  any  responsibility  for  the  rest  of  the  wounded. 
Cat  and  chicken  funerals  are  common  within  a  radius 
of  five  miles  of  where  Bill  lives,  and  most  of  the  dogs 
in  the  neighborhood  limp,  and  are  pretty  well  trade- 
marked.  But  Bill  is  friends  with  me.  He  snoops 
up  to  see  me  as  often  as  the  others  do,  and  lays 
his  face  against  me  so  that  I  can  feel  his  breath. 
Mother  isn't  especially  pleased  with  having  a  rented 
dog,  but  Father  says  anything  is  better  than  hav- 
ing inadvertently  become  affiliated  with  a  rented 
pump. 

Mother  went  in  bathing  to-day,  and  Blanche 
took  me  down  to  the  sands  where  we  sat  on  a  log — 
Blanche  on  the  log,  and  me  on  Blanche — and  watched 
her.  She  does  not  swim,  and  deep  water  is  danger- 
ous for  her.  It  was  high  tide  and  the  waves  came 
in  with  much  force.  One  of  them  took  Mother  out 
beyond  her  depth,  and  she  shrieked  in  fright  and 
fought  the  water  at  random.  She  called  for  Blanche, 

. 

but  Blanche  seemed  thick  of  comprehension — and  I, 
an  unspeaking  person  of  helpless  age!  Blanche  seemed 


36  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

to  have  no  idea  of  the  situation,  and  joyously  called 
back,  "Say,  Mis'  Carr,  don't  you-all  go  out  like 
dat!  I'd  come  along  in  now,  if  I  was  you — cause 
/  ain't  no  good  ter  you!" 

The  next  wave  brought  Mother  back,  struggling 
and  choking  and  pale.  But  I  don't  think  the  shock 
was  good  for  her,  because  to-night  she  lies  awake 
again,  talking  with  me  in  imagination.  No  words 
pass  between  us,  but  we  converse  just  the  same. 

"Once  I  had  a  dream,"  she  said  to  me,  in  thought. 
"I  dreamed  that  all  the  hard  things  of  Life,  all  the  un- 
kind things  I  have  ever  said  and  done,  all  the  cruel, 
horrible  things  I  have  ever  heard,  and  all  awkward- 
nesses, together  with  all  my  disappointments  and 
failures,  were  made  into  a  great,  heavy  black  cloak 
that  completely  covered  me.  I  dreamed  that  I  wore 
this  cloak  for  years  and  years,  suffering  under  the 
weight  of  it,  until  one  day  I  truly  loved  Life — when, 
all  of  a  sudden  the  strangling  iron  buckle  at  the  throat 
gave  way  and  the  godless  garment  fell  off  of  me,  and 
I  stood  out  in  a  lovely  white  gown — free!"  After 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  37 

this  she  lay  very  quiet.     I  hoped  she  had  gone  to 
sleep,  but  no! 

"Oh!"  she  sighed.  "I  am  afraid  that  the  freedom 
is  the  dream  part  of  my  fancy,  and  the  cloak  is  actual! 
To-night,  I  am  sure  the  wrap  is  made  of  lead,  painted 
black,  and  it  weighs  tons,  tons — tons! — and  I  stagger 
under  it.  There  is  no  love  in  me  at  all — I  don't 
love  Death  even,  and  I  have  always  thought  I  did. 
To-day  Death  and  I  came  near  to  each  other,  and  I 
fought  to  live.  I  wonder  why?  I  do  not  want  to 
live!  I  have  you,  and  I  do  not  want  you.  You 
have  upset  every  plan  I  ever  made;  you  have  ruined 
my  health  and  left  me  full  of  agony;  you  have  rev- 
olutionized my  every  theory — you  have  changed 
my  feeling  for  everything  and  everybody  in  the  world. 
I  think  I  am  insane.  I  tremble  from  head  to  foot 
when  I  hear  the  grocery-man's  wagon  on  the  road 
to  our  place,  I  hate  the  grocery-man  so.  I  have  never 
seen  the  grocery-man,  I  have  only  heard  his  voice. 
And  I  hate  being  anybody's  mother!  I  don't  hold 
it  against  you — I  have  sense  enough  left  for  that.  But 


38  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

tja raja 

B& —  — Bss 

you  swing  with  your  whole  little  weight  from  my 
throat,  and  your  little  hands  cling  to  that  iron  buckle 
that  holds  me  in  slavery.  I  wish  you  and  I  would 
never  wake  up!" 

Poor  lady!  I  thinks  she  believes  all  this,  and  it 
hurts  her.  I  don't  see  how  she  can  get  well  if  she 
never  sleeps,  and  evil  spirits  haunt  her.  And  there 
is  Cousin  Martha  coming  into  our  room  each  morning, 
looking  a  thousand,  too,  and  referring  to  having  no 
future,  having  been  pelted  all  night  with  nasty  little 
what-might-have-beens  in  her  restless  dreams,  until 
she  tells  us  she  does  not  know  what  keeps  her  from 
walking  off  the  breakwater  into  the  sea!  And  worse 
yet,  is  my  Father's  cheerfulness!  He  tries  to  be 
funny  and  cheer  the  ladies  after  his  long,  hard  hours 
in  the  sweltering  city,  and  his  two  hours  of  tiresome 
travelling  at  each  end  of  the  day.  And  when  he 
gets  all  through  with  his  anecdote,  one  of  the  women 
looks  up,  absent-mindedly,  and  says,  "I  beg  pardon, 
Richard,  what  was  that  you  were  saying?  Oh  yes! 
How  amusing!" 


pou  sluing;  ujiti)  pour  tuholr  little  tunglrt  from 
mp  tforoat  Page  38 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  39 

If  anyone  were  to  consult  me  on  the  subject,  I  should 
be  inclined  to  say  that,  in  my  opinion,  having  a  baby 
is  just  about  as  rough  on  the  Father,  as  anybody. 
And  Blanche  is  as  discontented  as  anything!  She 
roams  up  and  down  the  dusty  road  and  says,  "Lordy! 
Elf  it  wasn't  fer  Bill,  I  bet  I'd  jes  nat'ully  die  in  dis 
here  place!  Ain't  noffin  goin'  on  none  ob  de  time — 
not  even  a  hurdy-gurdy  nowhere!  An*  de  skeeters 
near-about  eat  me  alive!" 

It  seems  a  strange  situation  to  me.  I  think  they 
like  me — why  else  would  they  snoop?  But  every- 
body is  so  upset,  and  the  joy  of  me  seems  quite  lost 
in  distress  and  boredom.  Perhaps  the  fault  lies  with 
the  age.  Tiny  persons  are  no  longer  taken  in  as  a 
matter  of  course,  all  in  the  day's  work.  Maybe 
some  people  receive  us  politely,  but  I  don't  believe 
anybody  asks  for  us,  while  janitors  and  others  posi- 
tively don't  allow  us!  I  heard  Mother  say  to  Cousin 
Martha  that  if  anybody  else  got  off  the  time-honored 
comment,  "Well,  doesn't  he  pay  for  it  all?"  she  was 
not  going  to  make  any  further  effort  to  get  well.  But 


40  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

I  don't  hold  it  against  Mother.  Heavens,  think 
how  she  feels  toward  the  grocery-man! 

All  great  changes  are  hard  for  some  people,  especially 
those  who  have  planned  their  own  lives  carefully, 
deciding  in  advance  what  pain  they  will  endure  and 
what  pain  they  will  not;  what  responsibilities  they 
will  assume,  and  what  ones  they  will  not;  and  having 
it  clearly  understood  with  themselves  what  they  will 
stand  for,  generally  speaking.  Persons  of  helpless 
age  break  into  all  well-established  egotism  hard — at 
least,  I  have!  But  I  shall  try  to  cultivate  an  imper- 
sonal point-of-view  in  the  matter,  and  let  all  of  my 
energies  bend  themselves  in  the  direction  of  that 
black  buckle  at  my  Mother's  throat.  Truly  I  should 
enjoy  unfastening  that  clasp — and,  under  the  circum- 
stances, it  would  seem  the  least  one  could  do  for 
his  Mother. 

At  last  there  has  come  a  time,  when,  with  the 
sweetest  will  in  the  world,  my  Father  and  Cousin 
Martha  have  become  a  little  automatic  in  their  in- 
quiries for  my  Mother's  health.  Mother  is  not  used 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  41 

to  being  ill,  and  she  is  even  less  accustomed  to  having 
anybody  automatic  with  her.  I  am  undecided  which 
annoys  her  the  more,  continual  pain,  or  watching 
the  family  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Anyway, 
Mother  had  a  long  talk  with  herself  on  the  subject 
in  the  night,  coming  to  the  conclusion  that  something 
had  to  be  done  besides  just  standing  things.  She 
resolved  to  go  to  town  to  see  her  Special  Physician. 

She  told  me  all  about  the  visit  when  she  came 
home — no,  not  exactly  then,  for  she  was  dreadfully 
disturbed  when  she  first  arrived.  She  started  to  pick 
me  up  from  my  bed,  then  dropped  me  back,  saying 
aloud,  fiercely,  "No — not  now.  I  might  crush  him!" 
This  was  our  first  separation,  you  see,  and  the  hours 
she  was  gone  must  have  made  her  feel  a  little  fond- 
ness for  me,  or  something.  I  am  sure  I  understood 
her  mood.  She  would  have  not  crushed  me  because 
she  hated  me,  but  rather  because  she  had  been  so 
long  gone.  And  probably  she  would  not  have  crushed 
me  at  all. 

She  went  out  on  the  sand  for  an  hour  until  she  was 


42  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

^ m 

tamer,  and  then  she  came  back  and  took  me  up. 
We  sat  and  rocked  and  looked  out  to  sea  ever  so  long, 
although  it  is  quite  against  the  rules  for  anybody  to 
rock  me.  I  was  surprised  at  this  treat.  I  gathered 
from  her  firm  hold  on  me  that  she  needed  me,  and 
that  to-morrow  or  next  Christmas  would  not  do.  I 
was  interested  in  her  account  of  this  trip  to  town,  for 
I  had  been  so  amused  seeing  her  grow  stronger  and 
stronger  as  she  planned  to  go;  and  then  as  she  con- 
sidered what  she  should  wear,  and  finally  as  she 
adjusted  her  most  becoming  veil,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  weeks,  actually  went  out  somewhere. 

I  should  have  pronounced  her  cured  before  she 
started,  yet — she  is  not  a  poser.  She  is  ill — I  know 
she  is.  Well,  Mother  told  me  that  by  the  time  she 
reached  the  elevated  station  at  the  Battery,  she  was 
so  weak  she  wasn't  sure  she  had  good  sense,  and  she 
asked  the  guard  at  the  station  if  the  train  standing 
there  was  going  north,  or  south.  He  replied,  indul- 
gently, not  meaning  to  be  impertinent  at  all,  "North, 
lady.  If  we  was  to  go  south,  we'd  be  getting  pretty 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  43 

dog-gone  wet — everything  south  o'here  being  ocean!" 
Mother  told  me  it  struck  her  as  being  humorous.  I 
wish  I  had  seen  her  smile. 

On  the  way  up  town,  Mother  says  she  saw  every- 
body working.  The  tenement  windows  were  all  open  in 
the  heat,  and  the  sweat-shop  people  were  working, 
working,  working — not  having  a  single  moment  to 
watch  her  go  by,  or  even  to  be  glad  that  it  was  possible 
for  her  to  go  to  town  alone!  Mother  had  almost 
forgotten  how  wonderful  it  is  to  be  able  to  work, 
she  says.  I  fancy  Mother  likes  best  the  work  she 
cannot  do — that  is— the  work  she  must  do  (whatever 
it  be)  does  not  appeal  to  her  imagination.  I  sup- 
pose some  persons  consider  it  work  to  run  a  house  and 
bring  up  children,  but  I  think  Mother  would  doubtless 
use  another  word  for  this  occupation,  and  reserve 
the  word  "work"  for  something  she  thinks  interesting. 
She  told  me  once  that  she  had  always  made  isolated 
little  efforts  that  never  got  anywhere,  and  that  she 
longs  for  work  that  throbs  with  united  purpose.  But, 
believe  me,  if  she  counts  me  in  with  the  other  "little 


44  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m fi 

isolated  efforts"  and  already  classes  me  a  fizzle,  I 
think  I  shall  take  the  trouble  to  surprise  her!  Wouldn't 
you  if  you  were  I? 

Mother  eventually  arrived  at  the  Doctor's  office, 
to  continue  her  story.  And  there  was  her  Special 
Physician  looking  as  much  of  a  college  boy  as  ever, 
his  amber  eyes  twinkling — which  twinkle  always 
did  tease  my  Mother. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Carr,"  he  began,  "will  you  please 
tell  me  how  anybody  looking  as  well  as  you  do, 
has  the  nerve  to  come  here  and  take  up  my  time?" 
And  he  showed  all  of  his  nice,  white  teeth.  I  am 
crazy  about  his  teeth.  I  have  no  teeth,  myself. 
Sorry. 

"I  am  ill,  Doctor,"  Mother  said,  seriously.  "I 
have  a  pain  at  the  base  of  my  brain,  day  and  night — 
it  wakes  me,  if  I  ever  do  get  away  from  it  in  sleep. 
I  see  things  that  are  not  before  me.  I  hate  the  gro- 
cery-man. I  have  no  strength,  physical  or  spiritual. 
I  enjoy  hurting  people.  I  exist  in  a  state  of  mad 
depression.  I  wish  the  baby  was — " 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  45 

He  whirled  about  in  his  chair,  and  faced  her, 
saying  quickly,  "The  boy — dear  little  chap!  I'm 
glad  you  mentioned  him,  for  he  is  the  solution  of  all 
trouble  for  you.  The  cure  for  you  is  to  love  the  boy!" 

"Love  the  boy?"  Mother  repeated.  "I  love  nothing 
on  earth!  There  is  no  love  in  me.  And  I  think  I 
have  gone  insane — at  least,  I  should  hesitate  to  have 
a  nerve  specialist  examine  me!" 

The  Doctor  turned  back  to  his  desk,  and  tapped 
his  inkwell  with  his  pencil  until  Mother  felt  the  sus- 
pense of  their  silence.  Finally,  with  his  brows 
knitted,  and  his  voice  stern,  he  remarked — offhand, 
rather,  as  though  the  matter  were  of  merely 
casual  interest — "Mrs.  Carr,  it  has  always  impressed 
me  as  being  a  decided  pity  that  any  woman  with 
a  naturally  good  mentality,  should  deliberately  allow 
herself  to  degenerate  into  a  hypochondriac." 

Mother  was  stunned.  As  soon  as  she  could,  she 
left,  coming  home  like  one  in  a  dream — hurt  to  the 
soul — and  her  pride  burning  within  her,  burning  like 
all  the  hells.  To  get  this  from  the  only  person  on 


46  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

gi m 

earth  who  understood  how  actual  were  the  causes  of 
her  suffering — this  from  her  Special  Physician,  was 
almost  the  end.  Dear  Mother!  If  only  I  had  been 
able  to  speak  the  words  of  the  up-growns,  I  might 
have  soothed  her  a  little.  I  might  have  told  her 
that  this  was  a  hard  thing  for  her  Special  Physician 
to  do.  It  was  a  clever  blow — though  I  would  not 
have  ventured  this  idea,  perhaps.  It  showed  wonder- 
ful insight  into  her  character.  Her  case  was  not  one 
for  medicine  alone,  but  one  for  patience  and  time. 
He  knew  best — and  it  was  no  easy  task  for  him  of 
the  amber  eye. 

Daddy  came  home  by  the  next  train,  and  found  us 
rocking  together.  He  was  much  concerned  over  a 
new  mosquito  bite  I  had  acquired  in  his  absence, 
and  his  whole  outward  attention  was  concentrated 
upon  me,  as  he  sweetly,  but  impersonally,  said  to 
Mother,  "How  did  you  stand  the  trip  to  town,  dear, 
and  how  are  the  nerves  this  evening?" 

"Oh — very  well,  thank  you,"  replied  Mother  in 
studied,  commonplace  tones. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  47 

"Good!"  said  Father,  pleasantly,  never  question- 
ing the  truth  of  her  statement,  nor  attempting  to  pursue 
the  matter  further.  And  the  while  I  could  feel  the 
vicious  pounding  in  my  Mother's  brain,  and  the  pain 
in  her  reacted  in  me,  it  was  so  strong. 

Then  Cousin  Martha  dropped  in,  and  leaning 
over  me  tenderly,  she  sort  of  purred,  "You  little 
darling!  Cousin  Martha  wants  her  baby  now— 
it's  her  turn,  so  it  is!"  Then,  without  glancing  at 
Mother,  she  affectionately  asked,  "What  did  the 
Doctor  say,  dear?" 

"Oh,"  replied  Mother,  with  just  the  right  degree 
of  studied  indifference  in  her  inflection,  "he  said  I 
was  getting  on  very  well  indeed." 

"Fine!  I'm  glad  to  hear  it!"  exclaimed  Cousin 
Martha,  never  questioning  the  truth  of  the  statement, 
nor  attempting  to  pursue  the  matter  further.  And 
the  while  I  could  feel  the  wicked  pounding  in  my 
Mother's  brain,  and  the  pain  in  her  hurt  me,  it  was 
so  strong. 

I  did  wish  that  Mother's  Special  Physician  might 


48  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

FS23 Eg] 

have  seen  the  hopeful  result  of  his  master  stroke.  I 
call  it  splendid  to  cure  a  raging  case  of  temporary 
insanity  in  one  sentence!  But  if  I  might  be  granted 
a  comment,  I  should  say  that  if  I  were  a  Medicine 
Man  with  a  twinkly  amber  eye  and  a  manly  way 
of  making  a  merry-go-round  of  my  hat  on  my  fore- 
finger, I  should  call  it  taking  awful  chances  with 
gratitude  to  be  quite  so  successful! 


CHAPTER  IV 

HOW  time  flies!  Here  we  are  back  in  town, 
and  Blanche  gone  a  way,  and  another  darky 
installed!  The  new  domestic  is  an  uncertain 
quantity  in  our  household.  I  think  Mother  took  her 
because  we  were  desperate,  and  she  is  keeping  her 
because  she  lacks  the  courage  to  discharge  her.  Al- 
though Miss  Clara  Cummins,  as  she  calls  herself, 
has  a  formidable  eye,  still  I  am  sure  she  means  well. 
Anyway,  when  Mother  told  her  to  polish  up  the 
bronze  candlesticks,  she  worked  two  hours,  and  then 
appeared  in  the  doorway  of  the  sitting  room  looking 
quite  wilted,  saying,  "I  done  the  best  I  could,  Mis' 
Carr,  but  I  jes  nat'ally  can't  get  all  this  stuff  off!'\ 
The  "stuff"  she  referred  to  was  the  Tiffany  finish. 

Oh,  Mother  was  pleased! 

49 


50  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

I  am  glad  Clara  has  entered  our  life,  even  if  Mother 
is  reduced  to  the  point  of  fainting  when  she  hears 
the  Negress  asking  the  hallboy  if  he  has  any  letter? 
for  "Miss  Clara  Cummins,  care  of  Carr."  Clara 
is  a  starchy  nigger — she  dresses  up  in  the  discarded 
(or  indefinitely  borrowed)  finery  of  the  various  actress 
ladies  she  has  worked  for,  and  she  walks  out  after 
her  day's  work  is  done,  just  as  one  fancies  the  queen 
of  some  South  Sea  Island  might  deport  herself.  Then, 
although  Mother  does  not  know  it,  Clara  Cummins 
came  very  near  killing  some  new  tenants  in  my  be- 
half. 

I  was  asleep  in  my  carriage  on  the  roof,  when  the 
new  tenants  shook  out  their  rugs  so  that  all  the  dirt 
blew  in  my  face;  and  when  Clara  ran  up  to  see  how 
I  was,  she  found  me  choking  in  the  dust.  Her  remarks 
to  the  new  tenants  savored  of  Billingsgate  done  over  into 
East  Side  New  York  with  a  Down  South  accent, 
and  while  Miss  Cummins'  comments  pained  my 
sensitive  ears,  I  must  say  her  talk  was  very  much  to  the 
point — sufficiently  so  to  provoke  the  new  tenants 


C 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  51 

m m 

into  saying  they  meant  to  see  that  she  was  put  out 
of  the  building. 

Clara  and  I  agreed  that  in  all  probability  the  new 
tenants  would  drop  the  matter  where  they  dropped 
their  rugs;  and  we  should  hesitate  to  worry  Mother 
with  the  row.  Besides,  Clara's  conversation  in 
Mother's  hearing  is  exemplary.  When  one  lives  in 
a  small  apartment  and  has  to  put  up  with  a-home- 
going-at-night  servant,  one  can't  be  too  fussy — or 
one  has  no  maid  at  all.  Then,  Miss  Cummins  lets 
me  play  horsey  with  all  the  window  shades  in  the 
apartment.  I  pull  hard  on  the  strings  and  cluck 
(we  are  very  proud  of  my  new  accomplishment), 
and  bye-and-bye  the  shade  gets  too  frisky,  and  shoots 
up.  I  have  heard  Father  saying  he  could  not  see 
why  the  curtains  were  out  of  order  all  the  time.  Miss 
Cummins  and  I  say  nothing.  Miss  Cummins  won't, 
and  I  can't. 

I  have  many  toys,  but  people  don't  seem  to  under- 
stand persons  of  helpless  age  as  well  as  they  ought, 
considering  that  we  have  been  a  popular  calling  for 


52  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

so  long  a  time.  They  give  one  toys  which  are  too 
big  and  heavy  for  little  hands,  and  we  shriek  when 
we  are  offered  these  tiresome  things.  Miss  Cummins 
knows  many  things  in  Life,  among  them  things  she 
ought  not  to  know,  and  things  in  common  with  little 
children.  Clara  sees  Mother  safely  out  to  the  eleva- 
tor door,  then  hurries  back  and  gives  me  the  tiny 
silver  clock  on  Mother's  desk.  Mother  has  said 
several  times  lately  that  her  clock  is  behaving  queerly, 
and  I'm  not  surprised.  We  drop  it  every  day,  some- 
times quite  hard.  Miss  Cummins  won't  tell,  and  I 
can't. 

There  are  other  little  things  about  that  one  is  not 
supposed  to  cut  teeth  on,  but  Clara  lets  me  have 
them — until  she  hears  the  elevator  slam  at  our  floor. 
I  don't  mind  the  short  spasms  of  temper  that  follow 
these  away-takings,  because  she  feeds  me  wee  bites 
from  the  edges  of  lumps  of  sugar  to  stop  the  noise, 
which,  of  course,  Mother  and  Mother's  Special 
Physician  would  not  allow  if  they  knew.  Miss 
Cummins  does  not  mention  things  which  would  dis- 


im 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  53    ^ 

turb  them,  and  I  can't.  I  prefer  little  things  of 
Mother's  to  big  toys  of  mine. 

Miss  Cummins  is  extra  black,  and  when  she  is  all 
gotted-up,  she  wears  a  sort  of  small  horse's  tail  pinned 
on  the  back  of  her  head  over  the  short  kinks  that 
grow  there.  To-day  Miss  Cummins  and  I  washed 
this  tail,  and  we  tried  to  dry  it  over  the  biggest  burner 
of  the  gas  stove.  But  instead  of  slowly  drying  it, 
we  inadvertently  quickly  sterilized  it.  Mother  came 
in  shortly  after  we  got  the  blaze  out,  and  in  answer 
to  her  sniffing,  Miss  Cummins  smartly  volunteered 
the  comment  that  if  the  janitor  didn't  quit  burning 
the  garbage  in  the  steam  heating  plant,  she  was 
going  to  think  very  seriously  of  going  back  to  Cin- 
cinnatta! 

We  are  fairly  well  crowded  at  our  house,  now  that 
the  wee  rooms  intended  for  a  gentleman  and  his 
wife  are  obliged  to  accomodate  besides  the  original 
list,  a  cousin,  a  baby  and  a  maid.  We  use  one  room 
as  a  sitting  room,  library,  drawing  room,  nursery 
and  dining  room.  At  one  end  of  the  place  is  an  old 


54  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

mahogany  table  with  one  leaf  against  the  wall,  and 
on  it  are  some  flowers  and  a  pair  of  quaint  candle- 
sticks. When  it  is  dinner  time,  Clara  Cummins 
comes  in  in  her  black  dress  with  her  big  white  apron 
and  her  small  white  cap  with  the  big  black  bow  on 
it,  and  lifts  the  table  into  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Then 
she  puts  on  it  many  things,  most  of  which  I  should 
greatly  like  to  get  hold  of.  Sometimes  when  I  am 
ready  for  bed  I  am  allowed  to  watch  her  for  a  moment. 
She  is  not  permitted  to  speak  except  when  necessary 
in  this  room,  the  place  already  being  full  enough 
without  being  further  crowded  by  remarks  from  her. 
But  she  makes  funny  eyes  at  me  and  takes  bites  out 
of  my  hand,  in  passing.  They  are  not  real  bites. 

Then  they  put  me  in  my  new  bed,  which  I  now 
have  because  my  old  white  canvas  bed  fell  down 
too  often  with  me  in  it,  and  Miss  Cummins  said  too 
much  on  the  subject.  She  said  so  much,  in  fact, 
that  it  got  to  the  point  where  Mother  had  to  discharge 
her  to  preserve  her  self-respect,  which  she  did — but 
it  did  not  take.  Clara  came  back  just  as  though 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  55 

gl H 

nothing  had  been  said  about  dismissal.  So  Mother 
bought  an  up-standing  bed  to  stop  her  voice.  I 
never  got  hurt  in  the  old  bed,  but  I  might  have. 
But  I  might  fall  out  of  the  seventh  story  window, 
for  that  matter,  as  Miss  Cummins  and  I  frequently 
sit  in  the  open,  screenless  window  when  Mother  is 
at  the  market,  although  Clara  has  it  understood  with 
Mother  that  she  simply  cannot  wash  windows  so 
high  up — it  makes  her  dizzy.  The  janitor  washes 
our  windows.  Miss  Cummins  is  not  dizzy  when  I 
am  with  her,  although  Mother  might  be,  if  she  saw 
us — which  she  never  will,  so  long  as  Clara's  hearing 
remains  as  good  as  it  is.  We  can  smell  a  latch-key 
before  it  gets  within  a  foot  of  the  keyhole. 

Mother  continues  in  her  fresh  air  habits,  just  as 
she  did  in  the  country,  and  I  heard  Miss  Cummins 
telling  the  janitor  down  the  dumb-waiter  shaft  that 
if  our  flat  was  going  to  be  kept  so  darn-cold  on  the 
floor  all  winter,  she  was  going  to  do  her  feet  up  in 
hay.  And  she  thinks  it  is  rough  on  me,  too,  and  she 
says  when  she  is  an  old  "lady"  and  I  am  a  big  man, 


56  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

RC] ESI 

83 —  w 

s\ie  is  going  to  say,  "Why,  Mr.  Carr,  did  you  act'ally 

live  through  it?"  I  had  a  fine,  long,  large,  comforting, 
juicy  suck  on  a  piece  of  raw  bacon  this  afternoon. 
Nobody  knew,  but  Miss  Cummins  and  myself. 
Miss  Cummins  would  not  think  of  reporting  it,  and  I 
can't.  The  things  Mother  feeds  me  are  pasteurized; 
the  things  that  Miss  Cummins  feeds  me,  are  not. 
But  I  am  pulling  through^  in  spite  of  both  of  them. 

Father  says  something  has  to  be  done  to  liven  up 
this  household.  I  think  he  is  right.  Cousin  Mar- 
tha is  looking  all  worn  out,  and  she  never  sleeps, 
while  Mother  is  lashing  most  of  her  energy  into 
trying  to  be  true  to  her  silent  resolve  not  to  acknowledge 
the  pain  in  her  brain.  Why,  she  has  even  gone  to 
such  lengths  as  to  call  on  our  Special  Physician  and 
to  give  as  her  excuse  the  statement  that  she  felt  so 
well  and  happy  she  thought  he  would  like  to  see  her, 
as  most  of  his  visitors  went  to  him  in  distress!  I  don't 
know  what  he  of  the  amber  eye  really  thinks,  but  I 
heard  he  once  said  he  had  given  a  good  many  years 
of  his  life  trying  to  understand  women,  and  that  each 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  57 

H Hi 

year  he  discovered  he  knew  less  of  them  than  he 
thought  he  knew  the  year  before!  But  I  don't  think 
women  are  hard  to  know,  do  you?  My  Mother  is 
not  hard  to  know. 

However,  I  think  my  Mother  is  somewhat  better, 
because  our  town  grocery-man  does  not  inspire  so 
much  hatred  in  her  as  our  country  one  did. 

Father  went  on  to  say  that  yesterday  he  ran  onto 
an  old  friend  of  his — a  grocer.  (Mother  jumped  at 
the  word).  He  had  asked  him  to  dinner,  and  he 
suggested  to  Mother  that  as  his  friend  was  very 
sensitive  just  now,  it  might  be  nice  of  her  to  write 
him  a  note. 

Mother  at  once  said  in  a  puzzled  way,  "A  grocer, 
dear?"  And  in  her  mind  there  hopped  up  the  pic- 
ture of  a  spotted,  tired  looking  man  in  shirt  sleeves 
(brushing  away  a  streak  of  flour  from  his  cheek  and 
tucking  his  pencil  behind  his  ear,  all  in  one  trip  of 
his  hand),  while  he  asked,  mechanically,  "Any- 
thing else?  Got  coffee  enough  for  over  Sunday?" 

"A    grocer,"    repeated    Father.     "Rather   an   in- 


58  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

n n 

teresting  man.  He  asked  you  and  me  to  go  to  the 
theatre  with  him  sometime,  and  I  thought  if  he  first 
met  Martha  here  with  us,  he  might  ask  her,  too.  We 
must  do  something  to  get  the  poor  girl  out  of  herself." 

"But  Martha  never  knew  any  grocers,  except  on 
business,"  Mother  went  on. 

"Time  she  did!"  said  Father. 

"Well,  tell  me  something  about  him — a  gentleman, 
I  suppose?" 

"I  suppose,"  said  Father,  smiling.  "At  least  he 
has  always  ranked  as  such  in  college  and  in  society. 
To-day  I  met  him  again,  and  he  told  me  that  for 
months  he  has  not  been  able  to  face  happiness,  but 
that  he  would  try  to  come  to  our  house  if  you  wanted 
him.  I  am  sure  you  do  want  him." 

Mother  wrote  the  note,  and  she  and  Cousin  Mar- 
tha braced  themselves  against  the  possibility  of  a 
shock,  and  we  all  awaited  the  meeting  with  Father's 
grocer  friend  who  could  not  face  happiness.  Cousin 
Martha  remarked  she  hoped  the  list  of  dinner  guests 
would  not  get  out  to  Park  Hill,  where,  until  she  came 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  59 

to  us  in  sorrow,  Cousin  Martha  was  "one  of  the  leaders 
of  our  select  social  circles,"  to  quote  the  Sunday  paper. 
And  Mother  said  she  was  glad  that  Cousin  Martha 
had  spoken  because  that  reminded  her  that  it  would 
never  do  to  have  canned  soup  for  dinner,  because  the 
professional  taste  would  detect  it  in  a  minute! 

A  day,  and  then  came  a  special  messenger  with 
a  huge  box  of  flowers  and  a  note  from  the  grocer. 
"Any  nutmegs  get  in  by  mistake?"  sweetly  in- 
quired Cousin  Martha.  But  Mother  was  too  busy 
observing  the  coat-of-arms  at  the  head  of  the  paper, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  flowers,  to  notice  such  sauciness. 
The  grocer  had  expressed  himself  as  being  delighted 
to  dine  with  them  on  the  morrow. 

"Does  your  friend  speak  English,  or  talk  shop?" 
asked  Cousin  Martha  of  Father. 

"That  will  do  for  you!"  retorted  Father. 

"But  a  grocer,  Richard!"  (Mother  jumped  at 
the  word). 

"You  two  women  make  me  tired!"  was  all  they 
could  get  out  of  Father. 


60  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

ffl g| 

Miss  Clara  Cummins  made  a  good  dinner,  and 
brightened  up  the  silver  with  an  extra  flourish  in 
honor  of  the  first  guest  since  our  return  to  civilization. 
The  sitting-room — library — nursery — drawing-room — 
dining-room  never  looked  prettier  and  less  crowded 
than  it  did  that  evening  at  seven  to  the  dot,  when 
the  elevator  door  slammed  at  our  floor.  Mother 
and  Cousin  Martha  had  got  themselves  up  rather 
more  than  usual — Mother  in  a  white  evening  gown, 
and  Cousin  Martha  in  her  very  softest,  blackest  dress, 
with  a  white  ruche  at  her  throat  and  a  pearl  brooch. 
They  exchanged  teasing  glances,  so  that  Father 
might  know  the  mental  picture  of  their  guest  was 
amusing  them.  But  they  quickly  came  to  order,  as 
Clara  opened  the  door  to  the  gentleman  and  took 
his  great  fur  coat,  his  topper,  his  gloves  and  his  stick. 
In  another  instant  he  was  approaching  the  sitting- 
room  door.  I  got  all  this  from  Mother's  mind  later 
on  you  see. 

In  walked  the  dinner  guest,  faultless  in  his  dress 
as  a  fashion  plate — slender,  serious,  polite — fascinat- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  6! 

ing.  And  there  was  no  noticeable  aroma  of  dill 
pickles  about  him. 

Mother  walked  to  meet  the  gentleman,  and  shook 
hands  cordially,  saying,  "Mr.  Ludlow,  I  want  you 
to  know  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Burnham!" 

Mr.  Ludlow  held  Cousin  Martha's  hand  a  frac- 
tion of  an  instant  longer  than  was  necessary,  bowing 
over  it,  deferentially,  and  saying  nothing.  I  fancy 
this  delicately  done  bit  of  flattery  was  the  first  light 
thing  that  had  hovered  near  dear  Cousin  Martha  in 
a  very  long  time.  The  time,  really,  was  but  short, 
although  Cousin  Martha  regarded  it  as  a  great  many 
years,  and  she  felt  very  middle-aged  indeed,  although 
she  and  Mother  are  pretty  much  the  same  time  old, 
which  isn't  so  very  old  when  my  Mother  smiles.  I 
used  to  wonder  in  the  summer  which  of  them  was 
the  older — Mother  with  the  pain  in  her  brain,  or 
Cousin  Martha  with  the  empty  place  in  her 
heart. 

Well,  from  this  little  thing  and  that  little  thing  I 
heard  and  felt,  I  got  the  picture  of  this  dinner  well 


62  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

ii Si 

printed  in  my  imagination.  I  know,  too,  that  it  went 
on  record  under  the  heading  of  "Mother's  consolation 
party."  They  were  only  just  seated  when — so  Clara 
Cummins'  mind  told  my  mind,  later — when  the 
man  who  could  not  face  happiness  began  making 
dreadfully  depressing  remarks  about  Death  and  what 
the  human  soul  had  to  live  through  in  its  loneliness. 
It  was  a  strange  thing  for  him  to  do,  considering  Cou- 
sin Martha's  black  dress.  Mourning  is  supposed  to 
be  a  protection,  but  it  is  usually  a  provocation.  So 
on  he  plunged  with  mystery  and  isolation  and  other 
cheerful  topics,  until  Mother  grew  nervous  lest  they 
should  have  a  scene  with  Cousin  Martha,  who  was 
very  raw  as  to  nerves  just  now,  and  emotional  always. 
Mother  saw  her  struggling  under  the  persistent  pound- 
ing of  sad  comment  and  doleful  theories,  and  she 
glanced  appealingly  at  Father,  who  undertook  to 
change  the  tide  of  the  talk,  while  he  carved. 

But  a  jolly  lot  of  good  it  did!  One  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  change  the  current  of  the  Gulf  Stream. 
Father's  humorous  story  never  even  disturbed  Mr. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  63 

Ludlow's  admiring  glances  at  Cousin  Martha — all 
it  did  was  to  stop  his  remarks  for  the  moment.  Father 
waited  with  his  carving  knife  in  the  air,  for  the  others 
to  add  some  anecdote  along  the  same  lines,  and  maybe 
he  would  have  been  waiting  yet,  except  that  just 
here  Mother  told  something  funny,  which  nobody 
followed  sufficiently  well  to  smile  at  in  the  right 
spot.  Cousin  Martha  did  not  hear  it  at  all,  because 
her  whole  being  was  concentrated  on  not  allow- 
ing herself  to  get  out  of  control  and  have  hysterics. 
Father  glanced  at  Mother  with  an  O  Lord!  sort  of 
expression,  and  signalled  for  help.  Mother  tried  again 
to  break  into  the  painful  magnetism  generated  by 
the  failure  of  everybody  present  to  have  a  good  time, 
and  ventured,  apropos  of  her  desperation,  "Mrs. 
Burnham  is  from  Park  Hill.  She  likes  New  York, 
however!"  And  the  plucky  little  effort  had  all  of 
the  spontaneity  of  a  doll's  "Mama!"  when  you  poke 
it  in  the  right  place. 

Doubtless  this  was  a  sort  of  tin-foil  weapon  with 
which  to  slay  the  gloom  that  had  settled  over  the  table, 


64  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

for  Mr.  Ludlow  apparently  did  not  hear  her;  he  kindly 
paused  until  her  voice  had  ceased,  and  then  went 
on,  "But  there  must  be  something  after  this  life — 
there  must  be  something  to  make  it  worth  while  to 
have  gone  through  the  horror  of  the  most  common- 
place human  experiences!  Birth — life — death — what 
are  they  all  for?" 

This  came  near  being  too  much  for  Clara 
Cummins,  who  dashed  out  of  the  room  at  the  first 
opportunity.  The  funny  side  of  it,  unfortunately 
struck  both  Father  and  Mother  at  the  same  time, 
and  Mother  nervously  tittered,  as  Cousin  Martha 
fumbled  for  her  handkerchief.  "We  must  not  think 
of  such  things,  Mr.  Ludlow!"  she  exclaimed,  deci- 
sively, and  she  smiled,  though  it  seemed  a  very 
foolish  time  to  smile.  Father  bit  his  lip,  as  he  realized 
how  flat  it  was  of  Mother  to  smile. 

*'  What  Mrs.  Carr  says  is  quite  true!  "  echoed  Father, 
inanely,  although  Father  is  seldom  inane.  "We  must 
be  happy,  as  my  wife  suggests!  Will  you  have  light 
meat,  Ludlow,  or  dark?" 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  65 

"When  I  first  realized  that  I  had  to  face  life  square- 
ly— face  it  with  no  possible  future — " 

"Did  you  say  second  joint,  Ludlow?"  Father  cut 
in,  as  Mother's  prayerful  signal  reached  him,  and 
Cousin  Martha  acted  as  though  she  had  forgotten 
the  exact  location  of  the  fire-escape. 

"Anything  at  all,  old  man,"  replied  the  guest  who 
had  been  asked  in  to  take  Cousin  Martha  out  of  her 
wretched  self  for  a  moment.  "What  I  eat  does  not 
interest  me  any  more.  And  as  I  was  going  to  say 
about  the  tragedy  of  loneliness,  when  I  first — " 

"Ah!  Mr.  Ludlow,  excuse  me,  do,  for  interrupt- 
ing, and  changing  the  subject  abruptly,  but  I — I — " 

"Don't  apologize,  dear  Mrs.  Carr!  Nothing  really 
ever  interrupts  my  train  of  thought.  I  don't  think 
anything  could,  when  one  has  been  through  the  ex- 
periences I  have." 

Things  looked  dark  indeed.  Mother  felt  temper, 
almost,  for  it  seemed  abnormally  selfish  of  this  stranger 
to  go  on  persistently  in  this  minor  key,  when  there 
was  present  someone  who  had  lived  through  bitter 


66  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

sra        Era 

Ess as 

trials,  herself,  and  who  was  trying  to  take  a  broad 
view  of  it  all — an  impersonal  view,  if  such  a  thing  is 
possible.  But  try  as  she  might,  there  was  no  changing 
the  tone  of  things.  Mother's  attempt  to  cheer  Cousin 
Martha  was  such  a  farce  that  it  took  the  greatest  self- 
control  not  to  be  overcome  by  "the  shallows." 

But  eventually  the  dinner  ended,  and  Miss  Cummins 
converted  the  dining-room  into  a  drawing-room  by 
setting  the  table  back  against  the  wall,  while  the  party 
gathered  together  in  one  corner — the  library.  Here 
Mr.  Ludlow  took  a  new  tack,  and  began  making  re- 
marks which  showed  him  to  be  interested  in  Cousin 
Martha's  character.  He  boldly  asserted  his  belief 
that  from  the  way  she  used  her  hands,  the  toilet 
articles  on  her  dressing  table  were  all  arranged  in 
formal  sequence.  Cousin  Martha  did  all  she  could 
not  to  look  as  pleased  as  she  was.  As  a  rule  Cousin 
Martha's  dressing  table  looks  like  the  memory  of  a 
whirlwind,  but  for  once  it  was  most  orderly,  and  Mr. 
Ludlow  was  permitted  to  stick  his  head  in  the  door 
to  see  what  a  remarkable  reader  of  character  he  was! 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  67 

Mother  and  Cousin  Martha  were  uncomfortably 
amused,  but  they  kept  their  faces  straight,  of  course. 

But  it  must  have  been  a  strenuous  evening,  for 
when  at  last  Mr.  Ludlow  was  helped  into  his  great 
fur  coat  by  Father,  and  Clara  Cummins  importantly 
handed  him  his  stick  and  gloves  and  topper,  and 
everybody  said  goodnight  the  second  time,  and  he 
was  actually  gone,  the  whole  family  fell  in  a  heap — 
two  on  the  couch  and  one  in  a  chair.  Father  was 
the  first  to  be  able  to  speak — he  whistled  a  long,  soft 
whistle.  Then  Cousin  Martha  found  breath  to  remark 
that  they  might  overlook  Father's  grocer  friends — 
(Mother  jumped  at  the  word) — upsetting  all  tradition 
by  appearing  like  Russian  princes,  but  she  did  wish 
they  weren't  so  dismal!  Mother  hadn't  any  words 
— she  just  smiled  at  the  situation,  and  said  they  must 
be  sure  to  give  some  more  little  dinners  and  liven 
themselves  up! 

When  she  and  Father  came  into  my  room,  I  heard 
Father  say,  "Well,  what  do  you  think  of  my  friend 
Ludlow?" 


68  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

0EJ  rarj 

as as 

"I  think  he  is  going  to  marry  my  cousin,"  replied 

Mother,  quick  as  a  flash. 

"My  dear!"  reproved  Father.  "I  think  your  idea 
shows  very  bad  taste  under  the  circumstances!" 

"I  am  not  trying  to  be  funny,"  Mother  said  in  her 
own  defense.  "I  mean  what  I  say.  I  believe  he 
made  up  his  mind  the  moment  he  looked  at  her." 

Father  was  evidently  displeased.  "This  shows 
how  much  you  women  know!"  he  protested.  "Here 
is  a  man  crushed — absolutely  unable  to  think  of  a 
woman;  and  here  is  a  woman  in  the  saddest  frame  of 
mind — and  you  try  to  say  that — oh!  a  lot  you  women 
know!" 

"On  the  whole  I  think  you  will  find  that  women 
know  just  as  much  along  some  lines  as  men  ever 
know,"  dryly  remarked  Mother,  upon  which  Father 
complained  again  of  her  taste. 

"When  it  comes  to  marriage,"  Mother  went  on 
courageously,  "I  think  the  whole  matter  is  an  affair 
of  fate,  rather  than  of  taste." 

As  there  was  no  more  said  on  the  subject  that 


Jfatfjcr  toas  ebtbcntlp  bispleaseb. 
ijolu  muci)  pou  toomcn  fenoto. 


stfjotosf 

page  68 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  69 

night,  I  inferred  this  subtle  shot  concerning  the  possible 
reason  for  Mother's  having  married  Father,  was 
enough  to  silence  him  for  a  while:  although  I  saw  a 
smile  around  the  edge  of  his  mouth  when  he  leaned 
over  to  kiss  me  good-night.  And  when  he  reached 
up  to  put  out  the  light,  I  was  sure  it  was  a  large  smile. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  LOVELY  lady  comes  to  see  us  often.  Be- 
hind her  is  a  faithful  maid  who  says,  "Yes, 
Mrs.  Carr?"  to  our  visitor,  just  like  a  nice, 
neat  little  machine.  The  lovely  lady  is  my  Father's 
Mother,  who  is  the  understandingest  admirer  I  have. 
She  brings  me  little  things  to  play  with  and  soft  shoes, 
which  she  kindly  suggested  I  would  soon  be  untying, 
myself.  I  have  had  a  most  entertaining  time  since 
this  idea  was  put  into  my  head,  sitting  on  the  bed  and 
struggling  with  the  bows.  I  get  the  shoes  off  fre- 
quently. This  game  is  not  particularly  amusing 
to  the  up-grown  who  keeps  putting  them  on  again. 

My  delightful  Grandmother  makes  a  wonderful 
springboard,  for  she  is  large  and  comfortable.  As 
she  holds  me,  I  jump  and  jump  and  jump  almost 
out  of  her  arms.  She  is  more  satisfactory  in  this 
capacity  than  her  maid  would  be,  for  Jane  is  thin 

70 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  71 

m n 

and  distinctly  unbouncing.  My  Giandmother  wears 
two  sets  of  eye-glasses  on  one  hook  in  the  lace  of 
her  gown.  Very  thoughtful  of  her.  I  have  charm- 
ing times  with  the  tiny  gold  chains,  which  survive 
some  pretty  big  yanks.  "De  bootifuls"  my  adorable 
Grandmother  calls  me.  This  is  about  all  the  baby- 
talk  I  ever  hear.  It  is  warming.  I  like  it. 

My  Mother  says  such  things  to  me  as,  "Dicklet, 
I  wish  this  fretting  stopped,  instantly!"  It  stops. 
She  says  she  appreciates  that  her  actual  words  mean 
nothing  to  me,  but  she  is  sure  I  understand  her  tone. 
I  do.  "De  Bootifuls,"  therefore,  is  refreshing.  You 
would  realize  this,  if  you  were  I. 

Poor  Mother!  She  still  fancies  herself  unrecon- 
ciled to  the  changes  I  have  brought  into  her  life.  It 
disturbs  her  not  to  be  able  to  work  twenty-four 
hours  a  day,  for  work  is  her  favorite  diversion — al- 
though it  wasn't,  when  she  had  the  time.  I  don't 
believe  she  ever  worked  very  much,  myself.  I  am 
her  excuse  for  not  working  now.  As  a  girl  she  chose 
her  own  excuse.  This  is  probably  the  difference, 


72  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

[n m 

but  she  does  not  see,  and  I  cannot  speak.  If  I  knew 
her  language  I  might  point  out  this  fact  to  her,  gently. 
I  am  sometimes  sorry  I  cannot  speak.  Yet,  some  plea- 
sure is  to  be  got  out  of  misery,  it  would  seem.  What 
is  my  Mother  going  to  do  by  way  of  fun,  I  wonder, 
when  she  becomes  so  well  that  her  sense-of-humor  will 
no  longer  let  us  call  on  our  Special  Physician? 

We  enjoy  talking  with  our  Physician  over  the  tele- 
phone very  much,  thank  you.  We  have  to  consult 
him  every  few  days  about  my  food,  or  something. 
He  gave  us  a  little  book  called  "The  Care  of  Children" 
with  the  idea,  no  doubt,  of  having  his  wire  free  once 
in  a  while,  so  that  some  of  his  other  patients  might 
have  a  chance  to  bother  him.  But  the  book  is  better 
for  our  purposes  than  his,  because  the  repeated  ad- 
vice of  this  little  volume  is,  "If,  however,  these  symp- 
toms seem  serious,  lose  no  time  in  consulting  a  good 
physician."  We  never  lose  any  time.  Certainly 
not.  And  wasn't  it  sweet  of  the  Special  Physician 
to  give  us  this  book,  himself? 

But  as  yet  we  have  refrained  from  giving  our  Doc- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  73 

tor  any  "grateful  patient"  presents.  I  hardly  think 
that  Mother  will  ever  make  him  any  carpet  slippers 
or  give  him  an  umbrella,  for  once  he  said  in  our 
hearing  that  he  never  minded  losing  umbrellas — he 
always  got  six  or  eight  every  Christmas.  I  feel  con- 
fident that  Mother  will  never  do  anything  any  more 
uninteresting  than  to  send  him  a  print  (special  deliv- 
ery), of  every  photograph  I  have  made,  which  may 
hold  his  attention  a  moment,  of  course,  if  she  care- 
fully labels  each  one  with  my  name,  so  he  may  know 
which  one  of  his  little  boys  I  am. 

I  have  about  decided  that  when  I  grow  up,  I  shall 
choose  a  vocation  with  a  view  to  having  my  bene- 
factors realize  that  my  interest  in  them  is  professional, 
not  personal.  It  must  be  tiresome  to  be  a  successful 
physician.  Large  quantities  of  gratitude  heaped 
upon  one  for  doing  no  more  than  his  duty,  must  be  a 
sort  of  continuous  anti-climax.  Yet,  if  I  ever  do 
become  a  physician,  I  suppose  I  can  show  the  busi- 
ness sense  to  run  an  umbrella  shop  in  connection  with 
my  medical  work? 


74  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m M 

Like  so  many  sensitive  persons,  Mother  inflicts 
almost  as  many  wounds  as  she  receives.  To-day 
she  spoke  sharply  to  Cousin  Martha  for  accepting 
an  invitation  to  go  automobiling  with  our  recent 
guest,  Mr.  Ludlow — whose  violets  arrived  before 
Cousin  Martha  was  awake  this  morning;  whose  tele- 
phone call  interrupted  her  breakfast;  whose  books  got 
here  by  eleven  and  whose  machine  has  been  sighted 
hurrying  past  our  front  entrance,  on  the  chance  of 
seeing  somebody  go  out,  several  times  within  the  last 
hour.  Mother  seems  to  think  that  Cousin  Martha 
ought  not  to  encourage  admiring  gentlemen  just  yet. 
Cousin  Martha  seems  to  think  that  the  little  which 
is  endurable  in  her  life,  ought  to  be  accepted  thank- 
fully. There  you  are — gratitude  again!  She  is  un- 
consciously grateful  to  a  man  who  wants  her  off 
motoring,  all  to  himself,  where  nobody  can  interfere 
with  the  flow  of  his  sufferings  by  any  irrelevant  remarks 
about  cheerfulness  or  light  or  dark  meat — off  where 
he  can  make  her  weep  for  him — off  where  she  will 
naturally  not  have  the  nerve  to  mention  her  own 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  75 

ERJ cga 

cxS —  — as 

troubles.  Indeed,  it  must  be  thrilling  to  be  an  up- 
grown  man  and  have  all  the  ladies  grateful  to  you 
for  the  wrong  things!  I  have  hopes  of  trying  it, 
some  day,  myself. 

Well,  off  Cousin  Martha  would  go,  and  as  a  re- 
sult Mother's  nerves  began  to  nag  her  until,  in  des- 
peration, she  went  out  for  a  lonely  walk.  Miss 
Cummins  and  I  were  left  together,  and  we  put  in  the 
time  agreeably  calling  at  the  various  apartments, 
where  I  got  bites  of  everything  I  should  not  have  had, 
but  pie.  I  howled  for  pie  at  one  lady's  house,  but 
I  made  a  miscalculation  and  stopped  howling  too 
soon,  getting  only  some  of  the  browned  snow  on 
the  top  of  it,  when  it  was  the  hardwood  floor  in  the  bot- 
tom that  I  really  wanted.  We  did  not  get  the  silver 
cleaned,  but  we  squared  ourselves  with  Mother,  for- 
tunately, by  Miss  Cummins  reporting  that  I  had  had  a 
dreadful  pain  all  the  time  she  was  away,  a  pain  so 
bad  that  it  necessitated  her  walking  the  floor  with 
me  the  entire  afternoon. 

Just  after  Mother  came  in,  Cousin  Martha  returned, 


76  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

csa  pga 

Os  ^^BS 

all  the  black  clouds  on  her  hat  being  blown  off  to 
one  side,  her  cheeks  pinker  than  usual,  her  eyes  a 
bit  heavy  from  tears,  or  the  effort  to  restrain  them,  and, 
in  a  word,  looking  between  five  and  six  hundred 
years  younger  than  I  had  ever  seen  her. 

"We've  had  such  a  wonderful  spin — away  up  into 
Westchester  County!"  she  said,  lightly.  Mother 
was  silent,  so  Cousin  Martha  rippled  on,  "Where 
were  you  this  afternoon,  dear?"  ignoring  Mother's 
disapproving  manner. 

"Why — why,  I  was — I  was  out!"  Mother  en- 
lightened her.  Cousin  Martha's  mind  was  not  on 
the  subject  when  she  asked  the  question,  so  she  did 
not  notice  that  she  did  not  find  out  what  she  wanted 
to  know.  Miss  Cummins  was  not  altogether  satisfied, 
however.  She  hated  not  to  know  things.  She  had 
the  kitchen  door  open  a  crack  now. 

But  the  little  tilt  was  too  much  for  Mother.  In 
bed  to-night  she  has  tossed  and  tossed  about,  saying 
to  herself,  "If  only  I  had  the  strength  to  work,  other 
people's  affairs  would  seem  less  important  to  me,  I 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  77 

(30  fggl 

BS~^  — ES 

suppose.  Oh!  what  a  tragedy  it  is  to  have  one's 
work  taken  away!  I  have  longed  for  a  piano  and 
another  chance  at  amounting  to  something,  but  Life 
pushes  this  ambition  farther  and  farther  from  me 
with  every  day!  I  have  to  be  somebody's  mother, 
and  it  takes  all  the  time,  all  the  health  and  all  the 
money  there  is.  And  I  am  left  with  nothing  to  sing 
about — my  own  life  ended  before  I  was  ready  to  give 
it  up!" 

This  is  what  I  have  to  deal  with  every  time  my 
Mother  is  too  tired.  It  is  a  sad  thing  for  one  of  help- 
less age.  I  did  not  mean  to  make  anybody  unhappy! 
I  could  not  stand  this,  if  Mother  directed  her  ravings 
at  me  directly,  but  she  does  not,  quite — they  seem  to 
be  aimed  at  the  scheme  of  things,  generally  speaking, 
but  they  get  off  the  track,  sometimes,  and  hit  me, 
and  I  am  still  little.  I  wish  it  were  not  so. 

Evidently,  when  Mother  married,  she  must  have 
told  herself  that  marriage  was  a  good  incident  to  a 
career.  Mother  should  not  talk  to  herself  so  much, 
it  is  not  good  for  her,  really.  I  just  wish  I  could  speak 


78  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

her  language!  I  would  try  to  make  her  see  that  the 
whole  responsibility  of  me  does  not  lie  entirely  with 
her.  I  am  an  individual,  if  I  am  small,  and  I  am 
responsible  for  myself,  and  willing  to  stand  by  it! 

But  Mother  will  not  have  it  so.  The  weight  of 
that  black  cloak  made  of  all  the  things  she  hates, 
is  killing  her,  and  the  iron  clasp  has  a  way  of  tighten- 
ing itself  at  her  throat. 

I  knew  no  other  method  of  breaking  into  Mother's 
mood,  than  to  sneeze,  which  I  did.  She  forgot  her- 
self instantly,  and  leaped  to  a  sitting  posture  so  that 
she  could  lean  over  my  new  bed  to  see  that  I  was 
covered — which  I  took  particular  pains  not  to  be. 
I  was  cold,  so  she  lifted  me  and  hugged  me  tight  to 
her,  which  gave  me  the  opportunity  to  run  my  hand 
over  her  throat. 

There  was  no  iron  buckle  there  at  all!  Her  throat 
was  a  little  hard  where  the  sob  was  hiding,  but  there 
wasn't  anything  else  there,  I  tell  you.  Is  it  not  very 
extraordinary? 


I      DISLIKE  talking  so  much  about  myself,  but 
my  taste  in  this  particular  is  being  contaminated 
by  hearing  myself  incessantly  discussed  by  those 
about  me.     "Hasn't  he  wonderful  eyes?"  each  lady 
says,  as  though  she  had  made  an  original  discovery. 
By  the  way — have  I  mentioned  that  my  eyes  are  no 
longer  blue?    No,  they  are  a  sort  of  hazel.     Changing 
the  color  of  one's  eyes  is  not  as  bad  form  in  babies  and 
cats,  as  changing  the  color  of  one's  hair  is  in  lady  up- 
growns. 

I  have  now  reached  the  age  when  my  Mother 
thinks  I  am  sufficiently  irresistible  to  have  my  photo- 
graph taken  with  her.  Cousin  Martha  ran  the  risk 
of  being  late  to  look  over  some  books  with  a  friend 
of  hers  at  Brentano's — I  wonder  who? — and  she  and 
Mother  took  me  to  the  photographer's.  I  was  sorry 

to    disappoint    them,    but    I    was    suffering    from   a 

79 


80  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

@ m 

bad  humor,  and  could  not  have  smiled,  if  I  had  been 
willing  to — which  I  wasn't.  The  snap-shot  gentle- 
man impressed  me  as  being  a  harmless  kind  of  a  luna- 
tic, who  got  off  a  lot  of  tootsey-wootsey  talk  and 
hung  onto  a  tiny  bulb  on  the  end  of  a  small  hose,  to 
keep  from  jigging  himself  off  his  balance.  He  fran- 
tically waved  a  squeaking  duck,  which  was  too  large 
for  one  of  helpless  age  to  care  to  examine.  I 
did  not  encourage  his  gyrations  by  even  so  much  as 
appearing  to  be  alive.  I  stared  at  the  foolish  person 
blankly.  The  situation  was  trying  for  Mother,  who 
could  not  control  her  facial  muscles  well  enough  to 
have  a  likeness  made  of  anything  but  teeth,  while 
Cousin  Martha  suddenly  flew  out  of  the  room.  Pos- 
sibly she  had  a  pain  somewhere.  I  cannot  say. 

All  the  while  the  active  snap-shotist  was  speaking 
to  the  atmosphere,  like  a  monkey  chattering  on  a 
cold  day  to  keep  himself  from  freezing  to  death. 
And  the  way  he  over-exercised  the  duck,  was  a 
matter  that  ought  to  have  been  investigated  by  the 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Roughness  to  Toys. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  81 

"Laugh,  little  boy,  laugh!"  he  cried  out  now  and 
then  between  hops.  I  assure  you  there  was  nothing 
whatever  to  laugh  at.  My  one  thought  was  that 
the  man  was  in  agony,  for  no  Ute  Indian  on  the  war- 
path ever  indulged  in  such  goings-on.  Had  I  looked 
human,  he  might  have  made  a  dash  for  my  scalp, 
and  I  haven't  enough  hair  to  be  getting  careless  with, 
and  I  would  not  have  given  it  to  such  a  person,  if 
I  had.  Eventually  they  all  became  un-excited  again, 
and  the  man  mopped  his  brow  and  said  he  feared 
he  had  got  a  sad  picture,  and  he  was  usually  so 
successful,  too,  as  a  rule.  Very  glad  to  hear  it,  I 
am  sure. 

It  was  good  indeed  to  get  back  to  private  life  and 
Miss  Clara  Cummins,  who  took  me  eagerly  from 
Mother  the  moment  we  appeared,  as  though  Mother 
had  kept  me  longer  than  she  had  any  intention  of 
allowing  me  to  be  out.  And  I  took  Clara's  hand 
and  put  it  on  the  sugar  can,  meaning,  of  course,  that 
I  wanted  some  sugar.  I  always  put  the  nearest  up- 
grown  hand  on  whatever  object  I  want — it  saves  a 


82  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

KSH  rawi 

Eg —  — — a§ 

lot  of  trouble,  as  I  speak  Actions  better  than  English 
which,  to  be  accurate,  I  do  not  speak  at  all. 

"I  suppose  the  brown  paint  on  the  can  attracts 
him,  Clara,"  Mother  suggested.  But  Miss  Cummins 
did  not  feel  a  call  to  enlighten  Mother,  and  I  couldn't. 

Cousin  Martha  and  her  friend  must  have  looked 
over  a  great  many  books,  for  Cousin  Martha  did  not 
come  home  until  dinner  time,  and  then  surprised 
Mother  by  saying  she  was  dining  out. 

"Martha!"  Mother  said,  appealingly,  "Martha,  do 
go  a  little  slower!  What  do  we  know  of  this  man,  any- 
way, except  that  he  is  a  grocer  and  doesn't  look  it?" 

"It  is  no  discredit  to  be  a  grocer,  especially  in  this 
country!  Besides,  he  is  quite  the  biggest  grocer  and 
the  best  grocer  in  New  York!"  snapped  Cousin 
Martha. 

"Oh!"  gasped  Mother,  doubtless  noticing  a  slight 
change  in  Cousin  Martha's  point-of-view.  "But," 
she  argued  further,  "think  of  yourself,  if  you  won't 
think  of  the  groceries!  Would  this  not  shock  them  all 
in  Park  Hill — just  now — you  understand?" 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  83 

"What  is  Park  Hill?"  demanded  Cousin  Martha, 
grandly.  "What  is  it  anyway,  but  an  overgrown 
village  full  of  narrow-minded,  empty-headed,  coun- 
try bumpkins,  I  should  like  to  know?  Why  Court- 
ney says — I  mean,  Mr.  Ludlow  says — you  have  no 
idea  of  the  true  value  of  these  provincials  until  you 
meet  them  in  New  York!" 

"Was  he  speaking  of  you?"  softly  ventured  Mother. 

"Certainly  not!"  she  stormed.  "He  thinks  me 
very  different  from  the  average!" 

"Provincials"  Mother  harked  back.  "Hum! 
You  seem  to  forget  that  these  are  our  people  he  is 
speaking  of — people  he  has  never  met,  except,  possibly 
on  business,  and  who — ' 

"I  doubt  if  he  cares  to  meet  them  in  any  other  way 
than  on  business!"  Cousin  Martha  retorted. 

Something  was  wrong,  somewhere.  Mother  be- 
gan to  think.  Was  this  new  tone  in  Cousin  Martha 
due  to  three  telephone  calls  a  day,  too  many  flowers, 
too  much  candy — or  what?  Mother  was  particu- 
larly struck  by  the  significance  of  Cousin  Martha's 


84  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

PS , 6S3 

Esa^  SS 

accidentally  making  use  of  our  acquaintance's  Chris- 
tian name.  She  hardly  felt  she  could  shut  her  cou- 
sin up  in  her  room  and  feed  her  bread  and  milk  until 
she  came  to  her  senses,  although  she  would  have 
been  glad  to  do  so.  It  seemed  best  to  drop  this  sub- 
ject and  take  up  that  of  a  letter  asking  Cousin 
Martha  to  go  out  to  a  Long  Island  place  for  a  few 
days. 

"You'd  best  go,  Martha,"  Mother  urged.  "You 
need  the  change,  and  we  can't  do  much  to  amuse 
you  here  in  these  cramped  quarters.  Do  telephone 
that  you  will  be  there  on  the  four-thirty  train  to- 
morrow!" 

Cousin  Martha  expressed  herself  as  being  un- 
attracted  by  the  country  in  winter;  besides,  being  in 
mourning  she  could  not  go  anywhere.  It  would  be 
just  a  stupid  time  sitting  around  the  house,  at  best. 
But  Mother  kept  at  Cousin  Martha  until  she  saw  her 
safely  off  on  the  Long  Island  train  the  next  afternoon, 
and  had  got  her  promise  not  to  encourage  Mr.  Lud- 
low's  going  down  there  among  friends  who  might  make 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  85 

£273  GS3 

as as 

criticisms.     Cousin  Martha  agreed  with  Mother  that 

this  would  be  a  social  mistake.  And  the  train  started 
up  with  Cousin  Martha  blowing  Mother  a  nice  little 
kiss  through  the  car  window,  Mother  nodding  back, 
sweetly — and  Mr.  Courtney  Evanston  Ludlow  in 
the  smoking  car — though  we  did  not  know  about 
it  at  the  time. 

Mother  was  worried.  She  wondered  what  the 
family  would  say,  for  Cousin  Martha  had  always 
walked  so  carefully  within  the  rigid  little  lines  that 
Society  draws  for  ladies.  But  things  would  right 
themselves.  Cousin  Martha  was  out  of  town,  and 
would,  no  doubt,  come  to  herself.  Also,  the  tele- 
phone at  our  house  would  now  have  a  chance  to 
cool  off,  and  not  get  a  hot-box.  Our  apartment  was 
so  full  of  flowers  that  one  would  suppose,  at  a  glance, 
everybody  was  dead  and  the  papers  had  announced 
that  it  was  requested  by  the  relatives  that  no  floral 
tributes  be  sent.  Also,  we  knew  that  if  Miss  Clara 
Cummins  ate  any  more  of  Mr.  Courtney  Evanston 
Ludlow's  chocolates,  she  would  be  sick,  and  we 


86  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

should  then  have  to  turn  to  and  do  the  work  our- 
selves. 

But  we  had  grown  used  to  Mr.  Ludlow's  nice  voice 
at  the  telephone,  and  so,  when  three  days  after  Cou- 
sin Martha  left,  we  heard  him  calling  us,  we  were 
pleased.  He  wanted  to  know  if  Father,  Mother  and 
I  would  not  like  to  go  out  automobiling  on 
Sunday.  This  was  very  thoughtful  of  him,  and 
Mother  expressed  herself  as  delighted  to  accept 
for  us  all. 

Sunday  came,  bright  and  beautiful  as  one  could 
wish,  and  we  were  got  up  warmly,  special  care  being 
taken  to  do  me  up  well  and  then  deposit  me  in  a 
large  flannel  bag.  Mother  wore  a  gorgeous  coat 
of  fur,  belonging  to  Mr.  Ludlow,  as  did  Father,  too. 
Mr.  Ludlow  never  did  things  by  halves — if,  as  his 
guest  you  needed  fur  coats,  he  saw  that  they  were  at 
your  disposal.  Rather  more  thoughtful  than  most 
grocers,  who  are  generally  late  with  the  goods,  es- 
pecially if  you  need  the  eggs  right  away. 

"Where  shall  we  go?"  asked  Mr.  Ludlow,  turning 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  87 

round  to  us,  as  the  chauffeur  cranked  up  the  great 
machine. 

"Why,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  answered  Mother. 
"Anywhere  you  like.  You  are  more  familiar  with 
the  good  roads  than  we  are." 

"To  the  ferries,  Banks!"  he  ordered. 

We  got  almost  as  much  interest  as  we  hoped  for 
from  the  janitor  and  all  passers-by,  and  soon  were  out 
of  town,  where  many  leafless  trees  and  barking  dogs 
and  farm  houses  were  skipping  past  us.  All  of  a 
sudden — (Mr.  Ludlow  does  things  more  or  less  sudden- 
ly, always,) — our  host  turned  again  and  politely  said, 
"When  do  you  expect  your  cousin  home,  Mrs.  Carr?'* 

"In  a  few  days,  I  think,  Mr.  Ludlow,  although  I 
want  her  to  stay  as  long  as  she  will,  as  she  needs  the 
rest." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  drop  in  and  see  how  she  is?" 
Mr.  Ludlow  suggested  this  with  the  air  of  one  wishing 
to  confer  a  favor  upon  his  guests.  "We  shall  be  going 
very  near  her  place,  and  it  won't  take  us  far  out  of 
our  way." 


88  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

I  wish  I  had  been  older — I  might  have  nudged 
Mother,  or  something,  for  she  is  a  peculiar  person 
when  you  take  her  unawares;  she  seems  to  lose  all  power 
to  say  no.  If  Father  had  asked  her  to  marry  him, 
over  the  telephone,  it  would  have  saved  a  lot  of 
trouble.  But  I  was  helpless.  And  the  next  instant 
my  Mother  was  saying,  "Why,  why,  I  had  not 
thought  of  it,  but  I  suppose  we  might  stop  a  moment.'* 

"The  road  to  the  left,  Banks,  when  you  reach  the 
big  stone  house,"  ordered  Mr.  Ludlow.  He  seemed 
perfectly  familiar  with  the  neighborhood,  we  all 
decided  at  once,  though  no  one  said  so  in  words. 

Mother  could  have  scolded  herself  soundly  the 
jnstant  after  this,  for  here  she  was,  responsible  for 
their  going  to  look  up  Cousin  Martha,  when  she  had  felt 
and  spoken  so  strongly  against  it!  It  was  a  joke  on 
her.  And  what  could  she  do,  after  once  having 
given  her  sanction  to  it?  Well,  she  argued,  it  would 
make  no  difference,  probably,  anyway — she  was, 
no  doubt,  a  little  too  strict  in  her  ideas  of  conventional- 
ity. Mr.  Ludlow  would  be  presented  as  Father's 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  89 

friend,  and  everyone  would  naturally  suppose  that 
she  and  Father,  not  Mr.  Ludlow,  had  chosen  to  call. 
Then  Mother  told  herself  firmly  that  she  was  over- 
sensitive and  self-conscious,  and  the  world  would  get 
on  a  shade  better  if  she  would  cultivate  the  habit  of 
taking  less  interest  in  other  people's  affairs! 

Imagine  our  surprise,  when  we  were  presented  to 
a  room  full  of  pleasant  persons,  to  see  Cousin  Mar- 
tha with  her  hat  and  black  clouds  all  on,  her  coat 
on  a  nearby  chair,  and  her  suitcase  right  out  in  the 
hall,  in  the  direct  line  of  our  vision! 

"Hello,  Martha,"  Mother  said,  affectionately, 
"have  you  just  come  in,  or  are  you  just  going 
out?" 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  fussing  over  me,  but  I 
noticed  that  Cousin  Martha  stammered  something 
indefinite,  and  her  hostess  turned,  just  here,  and  ex- 
claimed, "What  do  you  think  of  her,  Mrs.  Carr? 
She  said  only  a  few  moments  before  you  arrived, 
that  she  simply  could  not  live  another  day  without 
that  baby  of  yours,  and  to  our  consternation,  she 


90  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

appeared  down  stairs  with  her  luggage  and  announced 
she  was  taking  the  five  o'clock  train  for  home!" 

Although  there  were  three  women  kissing  me  at 
once,  I  still  was  able  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Mother 
through  a  crack  between  them,  and  her  expression 
would  have  amused  you!  She  was  not  convinced, 
to  say  the  least.  She  looked  at  Mr.  Ludlow  evident- 
ly trying  to  discern  whether  or  not  he  and  Cousin 
Martha  were  guilty  of  a  conspiracy;  but  Mr.  Lud- 
low sat  idly  blowing  cigarette  smoke  through  his  nose, 
and  ingeniously  creating  the  impression  of  one  who 
was  doing  some  self-sacrificing  thing  and  trying  to 
be  nice  about  it.  He  certainly  would  have  been  a 
most  attractive  model  for  a  painting  entitled  "Not 
Guilty."  Suddenly — (when  Mr.  Ludlow  is  not 
sudden,  he  is  dreaming) — recalling  himself  to  the 
conversation,  which,  as  yet,  he  had  taken  no  part  in, 
he  looked  up  with  another  idea.  "If  Mrs.  Burnham 
is  really  in  earnest,  it  will  give  us  pleasure  to  take 
her  back  with  us  in  the  car,"  he  said,  addressing 
Mrs.  Burnham,  the  roomful,  Life  in  general,  Mother 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  91 

HI H 

— or  anybody  who  cared  to  take  the  suggestion 
into  consideration.  Everybody  listened — of  course. 

"I-a — wouldn't  it-a—be  crowding  you?"  shyly 
asked  Cousin  Martha.  This  was  pretty  well  done 
for  a  dress  rehearsal,  too. 

"Not  at  all!"  promptly  replied  Mr.  Ludlow,  more 
to  Mother  than  to  Life  in  general,  this  time,  and  with 
the  subtle  insinuation  of  doing  what  he  did  only  to 
oblige  her. 

But  Mother  is  game,  for  a  woman — (being  a  man- 
being,  I  feel  I  have  to  modify  the  word  "game"  when 
applied  to  a  woman) — and  to  herself,  she  acknowl- 
edged that  she  had  been  cleverly  trapped  into  doing 
the  last  thing  on  earth  she  wanted  to  do;  but  to  the 
others  she  did  not  intimate  that  she  was  anything 
but  pleased  by  the  outcome  of  the  day.  And  so,  off 
we  started  with  the  house-party  waving  bye-byes 
the  way  they  try  to  teach  me  to  wave  (but  I  won't); 
Cousin  Martha,  Mr.  Ludlow,  Father  and  I  in  the 
tonneau,  and  Mother  in  front  with  Banks,  whom 
she  found  most  entertaining. 


92  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Banks  is  nervous  and  thin,  and  like  all  true  auto- 
mobilists,  a  fatalist.  In  turning  the  first  comer  he 
came  within  a  breath  of  catching  a  man,  and  he 
promptly  commented,  "There's  a  time  for  all  fools, 
but  I  guess  his  is  still  coming  to  him.  I  thought 
for  a  second  we'd  got  him."  In  Mr.  Ludlow's 
employ,  Banks  has  been  reduced  to  cynicism  and  one 
tooth.  The  doctor  suggested  once  that  it  would  be 
best  for  Mr.  Ludlow  to  transfer  Banks  to  one  of  the 
wagons,  and  get  a  new  chauffeur,  by  way  of  letting 
the  man  down  from  the  awful  nervous  tension  at 
which  he  lived.  But  Mr.  Ludlow,  not  being  in  very 
good  health  himself,  never  undertook  to  propose  the 
indignity  to  Banks.  One  of  the  wagons — ha!  I 
can  just  see  the  sneer  that  would  uncover  that  one  tooth! 
But  had  he  condescended  to  the  place,  I  feel  confi- 
dent the  butter  would  have  been  delivered  promptly 
enough  to  suit  even  Miss  Clara  Cummins. 

It  had  been  Bank's  duty  for  months  to  drive  the 
great  French  car  fast  enough  to  keep  Mr.  Ludlow 
ahead  of  his  own  unhappiness.  He  confided  to 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  93 

Mother  under  his  breath  that  he  did  not  mind  the 
strain,  except  when  Mr.  Ludlow  undertook  to  drive 
the  car  himself,  first  remarking  that  it  made  no  dif- 
erence  what  happened  to  him — not  to  worry  about 
him.  Banks  wasn't  worrying  about  him,  probably, 
so  much  as  about  the  car  and  himself,  and  he  was 
not  especially  contented  in  the  tonneau,  hanging  onto 
whatever  he  could  find  loose,  trying  to  see  through  the 
dust,  and  praying  for  the  best.  He  told  Mother  that 
Mr.  Ludlow  brooked  no  interference  on  anybody's 
part  in  anything  he  decided  to  do — (this  characteris- 
tic was  not  as  surprising  to  Mother  as  it  might  have 
been!) — but  that  once  he  was  forced  to  speak  to  his 
master,  severely.  "My  God!  sir!  Don't  take  a 
double  curve  like  that,  sir!"  he  exclaimed,  and  meant 
it.  I  know  what  kind  of  curve  he  had  in  mind — it 
went  east,  and  immediately  upon  it  followed  another 
turn  going  west,  and  it  must  have  been  a  ter- 
ror or  Banks  would  not  have  spoken,  for  he 
never  minded  blurring  the  scenery  himself.  And 
he  remarked  that  the  dogs  and  chickens  they  got 


94  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

on  one  of  these  occasions,  was  a  warning,  and  no 
mistake ! 

Soon  we  were  in  town,  having  made  the  home- 
stretch with  dash  and  style,  scattering  the  natives 
without  argument.  They  put  me  to  bed  and  then 
they  had  something  to  eat  themselves,  and  I  could 
hear  them  talking  in  the  next  room. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  think  of  looking  me  up? 
Thoughtful  dears!"  Cousin  Martha  gayly  asked, 
with  what  Mother  thought  unnecessary  pride,  con- 
sidering that  she  was  the  winner  already. 

But  having  resolved  to  flatter  the  culprits  into 
thinking  they  had  done  a  rarely  brilliant  thing,  Mother 
spoke  up,  brightly,  "Oh,  this  was  an  inspiration  of 
Mr.  Ludlow's.  Wasn't  it  nice  of  him?" 

Later  on,  when  they  got  the  cigarette  smoke  aired 
out  of  the  apartment,  and  the  gasoline  smoke  had 
blown  off  our  block,  and  Cousin  Martha  had  gone 
to  her  room,  but  poorly  disguising  her  amusement, 
Father  and  Mother  exchanged  a  few  remarks  in  our 
room. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  95 

m— m 

"Richard,"  began  Mother,  "something  ought  to 
be  done  about  this  flirtation!  Some  day  soon,  Mar- 
tha will  be  coming  in  here  and  telling  us  she  has 
been  married  to  that  man." 

"My  dear,"  Father  replied,  coldly,  "I  have  known 
you  for  years,  and  this  is  the  first  instance  in  which 
I  have  observed  you  to  be  ridiculous.  I  think  your 
comments  are  shocking,  and  I  wish  you  would  not — 

"There  you  go!"  Mother  cut  him  off.  "You 
harp  on  taste,  when  we  are  facing  marriage!  I 
insist  that  something  ought  to  be  done  to  make 
Martha  realize  that  her  affairs  are  progressing  too 
rapidly!" 

"Oh,  my  dear  girl,  it  is  a  wonder  you  would  not 
bother  about  the  realities  of  Life,  not  the  possibilities! 
Heavens  and  earth!  Let  the  poor,  tired  little  thing 
alone!  Lord,  but  that  man  stays  late!" 

"That  man  troubles  me,"  volunteered  Mother. 


CHAPTER  VII 

LIFE  has  taken  on  a  serious  aspect  for  me.  I  am 
engaged  in  an  occupation  that  is  taking  up  a  lot 
of  time.  You  see,  my  Mother  wears  some 
pearl  pins  that  are  fascinating  to  me,  and  I  expend  all 
my  energy  when  in  her  lap,  trying  to  loosen  the  tiny 
pearls  from  their  moorings.  I  struggle  and  struggle 
with  my  delicate  and  easily  bent  nails  to  get  up  just 
an  edge  of  one  wee  pearl.  It  is  a  difficult  task,  and 
quite  as  diverting  to  Mother  as  to  me.  When  we 
had  guests  the  other  night,  they  took  me  out  of  bed 
and  carried  me  into  the  sitting  room  to  show  me  off, 
everybody  being  requested  to  speak  softly.  Mother's 
Special  Physician  held  me  strongly  and  almost 
tenderly  and  offered  me  his  cigarettes  to  muss  up, 
which  I  took  mild  pleasure  in  doing,  although  sleepy 
at  the  time.  Mother  told  everyone  about  the  pearl 
pickings  we  have — (will  they  never  realize  that  I 
understand  them?) — so  I  promptly  began  the  same 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  97 

m — m 

thing  on  the  Doctor's  studs.  It  was  a  pretty  party, 
and  I  wish  they  had  let  me  stay  longer. 

Mother  is  very  vain  about  me,  and  takes  me  to 
call  on  people,  doing  me  up  in  a  white  woolly  monk's 
coat  with  a  pointed  cap  attached  to  it,  and  a  cord 
around  the  waist.  Under  her  other  arm,  she  carries 
my  great  white  Teddy  Bear,  and  I  am  undecided 
whether  or  not  we  are  quite  innocent  of  the  small 
sensation  we  create  every  time  we  venture  out.  I 
am  growing  old.  I  am  able  to  kiss,  and  say  in  En- 
glish unmistakable,  "Mummah"  and  "Dadda;"  I 
can  pull  the  cover  off  the  dressing  case  seven  times 
out  of  every  ten  times  I  am  carried  near  it;  and  I  crawl 
under  my  bed-clothes,  in  the  hope  of  frightening  my 
parents  into  thinking  I  must  have  been  kidnapped.  I 
have  not  heard  them  mention  being  alarmed,  how- 
ever. And  this  morning  I  woke  up  early  and  leaned 
over  and  kissed  my  Mother's  cheek,  which  surprised 
her.  But  she  did  not  mind  the  surprise,  I  think. 

Mother  is  all  nerves  lately,  and  I  often  catch  her 
mind  saying  it  is  rude  of  itself,  to  degenerate  into  a 


98  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

g§ m 

hypochondriac.  So  when  a  friend  came  in  and 
asked  Mother  to  do  something  she  did  not  want  to 
do — go  down  to  the  Yiddish  theatre  on  the  Bowery 
to  see  some  Russian  players — Mother  smiled,  and  said 
she  would  be  delighted.  Cousin  Martha  had  an 
engagement  to  go  out  in  a  big  French  car  to  where 
some  fine  scenery  grew  which  one  might  see  some  other 
time,  when  not  in  an  automobile.  And  Father  and 
I  were  left  alone  for  the  first  time  in  our  lives. 

I  cried  hard,  in  spots,  which  worried  him.  But 
he  fed  me  as  directed  and  bounced  me,  and  felt  him- 
self deciding  he  would  rather  be  responsible  for  the 
financial  end  of  a  married  life,  than  the  domestic. 
But  we  were  nearer  to  each  other  than  we  had  been 
before. 

When  Mother  returned  smelling  distinctly  rag- 
pickerish,  and  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  leading  lady 
and  the  "types"  they  had  seen,  Father  threw  up  his 
hands  and  called  out  vigorously,  *'Take  this  job  away 
from  me  quick,  and  why  didn't  you  leave  those 
pearl  pins  for  him  to  work  on?  I  should  go  mad  if 


£- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  99 

I  had  this  responsibility  alone  another  minute!  Why 
in  thunder  does  that  nigger  have  to  go  out  every 
Sunday,  anyway?" 

The  day  after  Mother  broke  the  Sabbath  by 
going  to  an  East  Side  theatre,  it  was  Monday  all  day. 
Miss  Cummins  had  evidently  neglected  to  get  out 
of  the  right  side  of  her  bed.  She  was  horrid,  and 
showed  her  disregard  for  her  fellow  men  by  hanging 
a  lot  of  newly  dyed  black  dress  material  out  on  our 
pulley  rope,  directly  over  a  nice  clean  washing  that 
was  fanning  in  the  air,  three  flights  down. 

The  down  stairs  maid  stuck  her  head  out  of  the 
window,  and  told  us  (none  too  politely),  that  she 
wanted  those  dripping  black  rags  taken  in  so  that 
they  would  not  spoil  her  clothes.  Miss  Cummins 
stuck  her  kinky  head  out  of  our  window  and  told 
the  down  stairs  "colored-lady"  (none  too  politely) 
where  she  might  go,  if  she  didn't  like  the  rags.  The 
place  she  mentioned  was  one  I  had  never  heard  of 
before.  It  sounded  alarming  to  me.  Mother  be- 
ing out,  the  two  ladies  had  quite  a  dispute,  and  I 


100  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

feared  the  police  would  have  to  be  called  in,  because 
the  downstairs  kinks  said  they  were  going  to  the  roof 
of  the  building  where  our  aft  pulley  was  fastened, 
to  cut  our  rope  and  show  us  where  our  black  rags 
would  do  their  dripping! 

Miss  Cummins  made  a  few  elegant  remarks  upon 
what  she  would  do  to  her,  if  she  cut  the  rope.  And 
on  the  whole  it  was  thrilling,  and  in  the  confusion,  I 
ate  all  I  wanted  of  a  new  pound  of  butter  that  lay  on 
the  table  nearby,  incidentally  smashing  the  plate 
it  was  on,  in  getting  it  to  my  highchair  tray.  I  was 
so  glad  Mother  was  out! 

This  Monday  started  badly  all  around,  and  I  could 
not  help  but  feel  that  the  very  air  was  charged  with 
trouble. 

Somebody  had  died  who  belonged  to  Father's 
office,  and  he  came  home  early,  to  find  that  Mother 
was  dreadfully  disturbed  by  a  scene  she  had  had 
with  Cousin  Martha,  and  so  was  not  as  glad  to  see 
him  as  he  naturally  supposed  she  would  be.  They 
were  both  depressed,  and  said  I  would  have  to  sit 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  101 

in  the  open  window  with  my  things  on  to  get  the  air, 
as  they  would  not  push  a  baby  cart  in  the  streets,  if 
they  died  for  it.  As  it  was  wash-day,  Miss  Cummins 
was  too  busy.  So  I  sat  there  in  my  highchair,  none 
too  happy,  watching  the  dray  horses  in  the  street 
back  of  us,  and  throwing  as  many  toys  out  of  the  win- 
dow as  I  could,  and  dumping  the  rest  on  the  floor, 
just  as  fast  as  ever  they  picked  them  up  for  me.  In 
places,  I  yelled — and  was  glad  of  it. 

Miss  Cummins  looked  dangerous,  positively.  And 
Father  tried  to  read  the  paper,  saying,  "For  the  Lord's 
sake,  dear!  Pretty  soon  we  shall  have  to  nail  the 
furniture  down  for  the  wind  that  blows  in  here! 
Where  is  my  heavy  overcoat?"  And  he  put  it  on, 
rammed  his  hat  down  hard,  and  smoked  a  pipe  with 
energy. 

Mother  was  shaking  and  on  the  verge  of  tears. 
"The  child  has  to  have  air,  I  suppose,"  she  plain- 
tively remarked,  as  though  there  were  no  peace  on 
earth,  now  that  I  had  come  to  board  with  them 
permanently.  There  are  times  when  I  do  feel  sorry 


102  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

for  all  the  bother  I  have  caused.  Possibly  they 
would  have  been  out  walking,  except  for  me — though, 
nowadays,  Mother  has  little  strength  for  unnecessary 
things  like  that.  Oh,  they  were  depressed!  I  might 
have  taken  this  occasion  to  have  been  sweet  and  cooey 
and  all  that,  but  one  of  helpless  age  always  reflects 
the  general  attitude  about  him,  when  he  can't  work 
up  a  complaint  of  his  own,  so  I  fretted  and  whined, 
and  settled  into  a  discontented  heap  in  my  great 
monk's  coat.  Soon  Mother  began  walking  the 
floor. 

"Say!"  said  Father,  irritably,  "can't  you  sit  down, 
or  is  the  breeze  too  strong  to  admit  of  it?  You  drive 
me  crazy,  tramping  about.  Sit  down,  dear,  and  en- 
joy the  air!  Why,  it's  a  Kansas  cyclone,  and  a  bird 
— what  more  do  you  want?" 

"Richard,"  Mother  began,  "I  have  had  a  dread- 
ful time  with  Martha  to-day,  and  I  wish  you  would 
not  add  to  my  distress  by  trying  to  be  as  funny  as 
you  can." 

Gracious!    I  was  afraid  this  would  start  something 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  103 

serious,  so  I  made  believe  I  intended  to  jump  out  of 
my  chair,  through  the  open  window.  This  changed 
the  tone  of  things  for  an  instant,  as  they  dragged  my 
chair  into  the  room,  and  made  a  few  comments  on 
New  York  as  a  home  for  poor  people  and  children. 

"What  has  Martha  done  now?"  demanded  Father. 
"Taken  a  harmless  walk  around  the  corner  with  a 
worn-out  man  who  talks  Shakespeare  and  religion 
to  her?" 

"Shakespeare  and  religion — nothing!"  stormed 
Mother. 

"Now  see  here,  little  woman!"  Father  said,  with 
a  firm  touch,  "you  are  giving  yourself  a  lot  of  concern 
over  nothing.  In  the  first  place,  Martha's  whole 
bringing  up  has  been  conventional,  and  she  knows 
just  as  much  about  good  taste  and  bad,  as  you  do — 
she  ought  to  know  more,  as  she  is  older.  As  for  her 
caring  for  Ludlow — it's  all  nonsense.  She  has  a 
notion  she  can  take  the  morbid  point-of-view  out  of 
him,  and  she  is  having  a  little  fun.  As  for  Ludlow, 
you  don't  suppose  a  man  of  his  experience  is  going 


104  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

SB  IS& 

ES3  — cro 

to  lose  his  head  in  two  weeks,  do  you?  Rot!  Let 
them  jolly  each  other  in  peace!" 

"Well,  for  a  man  of  the  world,  Richard,  you  do 
take  the  most  milk-and-water  view  of  this  affair 
imaginable.  I  am  distressed  to  death  over  it,  and 
to-day  I  had  a  plain  talk  with  Martha.  I  tried  to 
point  out  to  her  the  volley  of  objection  she  would  have 
to  encounter  with  the  family,  if  any  rumors  got  back 
to  them,  and  I  went  on  to  say  that  if,  in  a  moment  of 
temporary  aberration,  she  should  enter  into  an  en- 
gagement with  this  stranger,  it  would  be  known 
like  wild-fire;  and  just  think  of  the  public  opinion — 
think  of  the  society  column!  She  is  so  full  of  new 
theories  about  every  life  being  at  liberty  to  live  itself  out 
as  it  thinks  best!  Martha  is  not  strong  enough  to  stand 
all  the  trouble  she  may  bring  upon  herself,  even  if  it 
is  presented  to  her  in  a  rosy  light.  I  tell  you,  this  is 
a  very  serious  matter,  and  I  told  Martha  I  wanted 
her  to  go  home." 

"That  was  hospitable!"  dryly  remarked  Father. 

"It  was  sensible,"   Mother  defended  herself.     "I 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  105 

told  her  to  go  back  to  Park  Hill,  and  put  in  the  next 
few  months  studying  or  something,  at  least  until  she 
is  out  of  mourning." 

"What  did  she  say  to  that?" 

"She  said  she  saw  no  reason  why  people  should 
mourn — they  paid  enough  for  any  joy  they  got,  along 
the  way!" 

"Did  she  get  this  idea  from  Ludlow?  Fine  ex- 
ample of  his  own  reasoning,  he  is!" 

"They  are  both  mad." 

"Well,  I  shall  be  mad,  too,  if  you  don't  get  me  a 
quilt  or  a  hot  water  bottle  to  wrap  my  feet  in." 

"I  asked  her  if  I  should  have  her  trunks  brought  up 
in  the  morning,"  Mother  went  on. 

"That  n>as  hospitable!" 

"Well,  she  said  yes — but  that  she  feared  Courtney 
would  not  be  here  when  she  came  back." 

"Here?    Where?    Is  he  going  to  move?" 

"Here — on  this  earth,  stupid!  She  says  he  is  at 
the  end  of  his  endurance;  he  is  a  nervous  wreck,  and 
he  needs  her  to  keep  the  life  in  him  going.  His 


106  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

ffl ffl 

doctor  says  that  if  some  great  change  does  not  come 
to  him  soon,  he  cannot  go  on." 

"What  did  the  doctor  get  for  this  speech,  I  wonder? 
Well,  Martha  knows  Ludlow  has  a  bad  cold,  of 
course,  and  we  can  all  see  he  is  run-down  more  or 
less,  but  I  think  he  would  pull  through  without  her 
for  a  little  while,  a  few  months,"  Father  thought. 

"Yes — but  I  am  trying  to  tell  you  that  he  has  got 
Martha  hypnotized  into  believing  that  she,  and  she 
alone,  can  save  his  life." 

"You  don't  say  so!  Well,  Ludlow  always  was  a 
clever  fellow.  Perhaps  there  is  something  in  what 
you  say,  only  don't  push  this  going  home  business 
too  hard." 

"I  insisted  upon  Martha's  going  back  to-morrow," 
Mother  confessed.  "She promised  to  goon  the  Lim- 
ited." 

Just  here  the  telephone  rang,  and  Miss  Cummins, 
who  made  it  a  point  never  to  miss  anything,  crossed 
the  hall  to  the  dining  room  to  see  that  all  the  spoons 
were  where  she  had  left  them.  Father  went  back 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  107 

to  his  paper,  and  Mother  answered.  "Yes?"  I 
heard  her  say.  "What's  that?  You  won't  be  home 
to  dinner?  Oh!  What?  What!  My  God!"  And 
she  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  Miss  Cummins  was 
obliged  to  go  back  to  the  kitchen  without  being 
satisfied  at  all. 

Mother  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  Father  looked 
up.  The  expression  of  her  eyes  was  enough  to  frighten 
one,  and  she  was  pale.  Something  of  importance 
was  about  to  be  announced,  so  Father  took  off  his 
hat,  and  respectfully  waited. 

"Martha  is  being  married  to  Mr.  Ludlow  at  five," 
Mother  said,  calmly.  "She  telephoned  to  say  she 
would  be  glad  if  I  would  call  up  Mrs.  James  and  tell 
her  she  cannot  come  to  tea — something  has  come 
up  which  it  makes  impossible  for  her  to  keep  the  en- 
gagement." 

"Thoughtful  of  her  not  to  keep  Mrs.  James  waiting," 
remarked  Father,  humorously,  putting  his  hat  on  again. 

"Wasn't  it?"  echoed  Mother,  like  one  in  a  trance. 
Then  she  added,  "Martha  wants  us  to  come." 


108  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

"That's  sweet  of  her,"  Father  replied.  "But  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  go  decently  considering  the  deep 
mourning  of  both  the  contracting  parties — I  haven't 
any  black  gloves." 

"Isn't  it  awful,  Richard?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  is  awful,  or  simply 
funny." 

"Oh!"  gasped  Mother.     "Ohl" 

In  twenty  minutes,  Cousin  Martha  came  in,  a  little 
nervous,  and  said  the  carriage  would  be  at  the  door 
at  four-thirty.  Then  she  went  to  her  room.  It  was 
too  late  to  take  any  action  against  the  marriage,  and 
perhaps  such  a  move  would  have  been  against  Cou- 
sin Martha's  happiness,  instead  of  for  it,  anyway. 
So  Mother  put  in  her  time  dressing  for  the  street,  and 
wondering  what  the  bride  was  going  to  appear  in. 
Father  shut  the  window  with  a  bang,  and  went  into 
his  room  to  crawl  into  his  frock  coat  and  pet  his  topper 
as  one  strokes  a  kitty.  He  smiled  as  he  selected  a 
pair  of  white  gloves.  And  shortly  the  three  of  them 
silently  filed  out  of  the  apartment,  Miss  Cummins 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  109 

utterly  at  a  loss  to  understand  what  was  going  on, 
and  me  unable  to  tell  her! 

Cousin  Martha  looked  lovely  but  sort  of  tragic,  I 
thought,  in  her  softest  black  gown  with  the  white 
ruche  at  the  throat  and  the  brooch  of  pearls.  Cer- 
tainly she  was  unique,  and  the  society  editor  would 
have  been  unable  to  work  in  any  of  her  stock  phrases 
in  making  a  word-picture  of  the  bride. 

The  air  was  tingling  with  the  reality  of  Life,  and 
Miss  Cummins  and  I  were  quiet  and  moody,  and  we 
forgot  the  episode  of  the  black  rags.  "Say!"  grunted 
Miss  Cummins  aloud,  as  the  elevator  door  slammed 
at  our  floor,  "y°u-aU's  got  to  show  me!" 

Dear  me!    Monday  is  such  a  trying  day! 


Father  gave  the  bride  away,  and  during  the  cere- 
mony, Mother  pulled  her  gloves  half  off,  unbuttoned 
— if  you  can  imagine  such  agitation.  Everybody 
wished  the  bridal  couple  well,  and  nobody  cried, 


110  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

exactly,  although  Mother  almost  strangled  in  not 
doing  so — so  her  mind  said  to  my  mind  in  the  long 
wakeful  night  that  followed.  She  and  Father  did 
not  speak  for  half  an  hour  after  leaving  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ludlow.  They  came  home  looking  aged,  and  finally 
the  silence  was  distressing  and  Father  tried  to  be 
natural  and  made  some  remark  about  how  pretty  the 
decorations  were.  But  this  proved  to  be  a  failure. 
Mother  sat  on  the  couch  staring  at  nothing  at  all. 

"The  widows  of  your  family  make  fairly  good 
time,"  Father  ventured,  kindly  enough,  but  with 
more  feeling  than  showed  on  the  surface.  "How 
long  have  the  Ludlows  known  each  other?" 

"Twenty-six  days,  to-morrow." 

"Whew!"  whistled  Father.  "My  dear,  when  / 
am  gone,  I  wish  you  would — " 

"When  you  are  gone,"  answered  Mother,  grimly, 
"I  promise  you  that  I  will  retire  to  a  convent  and 
hang  firmly  onto  the  habit  of  the  Mother  Superior 
for  one  year,  and  if  I  must  speak  with  a  man  during 
that  time,  I  will  do  so  over  the  telephone." 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  til 

"Thank  you,  darling!"  replied  Father,  with  a 
comic  bow.  "I  should  feel  a  little  easier,  if  you 
would  be  so  thoughtful!" 

"Poor  little  Martha!"  sighed  Mother.  "Poor 
little  Martha!"  And  she  cried  until  I  thought  we 
should  have  to  send  for  her  Special  Physician.  And 
Father,  always  gentle  and  devoted,  was  more  gentle 
and  devoted  than  ever.  He  even  tried  to  be  super- 
ficial, remarking  that  Ludlow  would  make  Martha 
happy  enough  no  doubt,  and  that  so  long  as  one  went 
in  for  consolation  parties,  it  was  nice  to  have  them  a 
success! 

But  really  Father  was  not  amusing — he  was  just 
gentle  and  devoted. 


M 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OTHER  says  she  wishes  she  had  a  good 
horse  and  a  wilderness  at  her  command,  that 
she  might  ride  off  and  go  and  go  and  go  until 
she  and  the  horse  killed  themselves  with  going!  And 
as  for  the  "next  incarnation"  (what  ever  that  may  be), 
she  wants  to  be  a  cyclone  then,  so  that  nobody  can 
stop  her  and  put  her  to  work!  Her  thoughts  rush 
on  to  assure  themselves  that  she  believes  (but  I  doubt 
it!)  she  was  born  with  a  well-defined  aversion  to 
everything  she  ever  had  to  do;  and  she  hates  to  live 
a  life  wherein  the  individual  has  no  chance  of  being 
what  he  wishes  to  be — a  life  that  is  a  well-set  trap, 
baited  with  stuff  they  call  love!  For  goodness  sake! 
but  I  am  glad  specialists  on  insanity  can't  see  the  in- 
side of  her  head,  as  I  do!  They  might  lock  her  up 
and  punish  her  by  reading  to  her  articles  on  the  joy 

of  having  large  families. 

112 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  113 

And  the  most  extraordinary  thing  about  her  pe- 
culiar state  of  mind  is  that  to  me,  she  is  all  that  one 
could  ask  of  his  Mother.  She  is  never  without  kisses 
and  little  pats  and  things.  I  think  my  Mother  loves 
me,  but  she  does  not  like  changes.  She  only  keeps 
Clara  Cummins  because  she  has  a  dread  of  making 
any  change — and,  perhaps  also  because  Clara  is 
good  to  me.  But  one  thing  is  very,  very  evident  to 
me — she  never  wanted  to  be  any  little  boy's  Mother! 

If  Mother's  Special  Physician  had  not  been  smart 
enough  to  say  the  one  thing  that  would  have  appealed 
to  her,  mercy  knows  what  would  have  become  of  us 
all  before  this!  Last  night,  after  Cousin  Martha 
and  Mr.  Ludlow  had  shocked  us  by  showing  us  they 
could  manage  their  own  affairs  better  than  we  could, 
I  really  did  think  that  if  that  iron  buckle  did  not 
strangle  her,  the  godless  cloak  it  holds  on  her  would 
crush  her  with  its  maddening  weight.  When  I  am 
a  little  bigger,  I  think  I  can  loosen  up  that  buckle, 
and  when  I  am  quite  big,  perhaps  I  can  wrench  it 
open.  At  least,  I  can  try. 


1 14  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

"That  stuff  they  call  love"  is  a  monster  while  it 
is  going — Miss  Cummins  tells  me.  Possibly  the 
Ludlows  were  victims?  Anyway,  they  have  caused 
all  kinds  of  hysterics,  newspaper  write-ups,  and  other 
excitements  known  to  man!  Why,  one  Park  Hill 
society  column  was  so  dressy  in  its  account  of  the  affair 
that  it  even  took  me  into  the  "pen  pastel,"  referring 
to  me  as  "the  heir  to  the  uncertain  fortunes  of  the 
Richard  Carrs!"  Wasn't  this  deliciously  descrip- 
tive of  me  and  Life's  struggles,  generally  speaking? 
This  society  reporter  was  brighter  than  she  knew. 
Anything  can  happen,  once  in  a  while,  even  accuracy 
in  reporters. 

Everybody  in  Park  Hill  called  on  the  bride's 
relatives — especially  those  who  had  kindly  stayed 
called-upon  by  the  bride's  family  for  some  seasons 
before.  They  all  spoke  in  low  tones  and  did  the 
best  they  could  to  conceal  their  morbid  curiosity. 
In  most  cases  they  tactfully  proffered  consolation- 
congratulations,  which  were  double-jointed  and  ca- 
pable of  being  taken  anyway  you  liked.  The  sugar- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  115 

coated  impertinences  mostly  took  the  form  of  making 
wellbred,  casual  inquiries  into  the  groom's  financial 
standing,  delicate  care  being  taken  not  to  touch  upon 
his  occupation.  Those  who  felt  convinced  that 
they  positively  £nen>  the  groom  to  be  a  grocer,  were 
particularly  tender  with  the  prostrated  lady  relatives, 
who,  like  Du  Barry  and  other  old-time  fashionables, 
received  the  influx  of  callers  while  in  bed,  extending 
trembling  hands,  and  tear-stained  up-turned  faces. 
As  was  to  be  expected,  exquisite  commiseration  was 
shown  by  all  the  ladies  who  had  husbands  in  the  dry 
goods  business,  or  whose  father's  wealth  lay  in  barrels 
(together  with  pickled  pigs-feet),  or  whose  fortunes 
had  bubbled  up  merrily  in  soda  water  fountains. 

The  men  members  of  Cousin  Martha's  family, 
told  all  pressing  newspaper  representatives  that  they 
had  never  heard  of  this  especial  man  named  Ludlow, 
and  stated  that  probably  the  dispatches  from  New 
York  were  nothing  more  nor  less  than  one  of  the  usual 
mistakes.  Whether  or  not  this  man  Ludlow  was  a 
grocer,  they  neither  knew  nor  cared.  Good-day! 


1 16  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m is 

As  soon  as  she  was  able  to  take  pen  in  hand,  the 
lady  relative  who  had  had  sinking  spells  over  the 
recent  degradation  of  the  family,  wrote  sobbingly  to 
Mother,  saying,  "I  could  have  stood  her  deceiving 
us,  and  marrying  so  soon,  if  only  she  had  not  married 
a — grocer!" 

And  then  Mother,  thinking  to  comfort  the  lady, 
wrote  back,  "My  dear!  Why  take  this  so  hard? 
He  is  a  charming  man,  and  in  all  respects  a  gentle- 
man. And  you  must  not  forget,  dear,  that  this  is 
not  our  first  shock.  Weren't  we  once  slightly  mixed 
up  with  tin  shears?  Didn't  Grandfather  in  his  youth 
do  an  enormous  business  in  pie  plates,  tin  cans  and 
dinner  buckets?" 

Back,  special  delivery,  came  the  enraged  reply — "I 
am  disgusted  by  your  comparison!  Your  grand- 
father was  not  (thank  God)  a  grocer,  neither  was 
he  a  tinsmith,  as  you  so  coarsely  imply.  For  a  short 
time  in  his  early  manhood,  he  was  associated  with 
a  dignified  factory  (an  office  position,  purely),  where 
the  stock  was  cut  out  by  machinery  in  lots  of  at  least 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  117 

one  hundred  each.  Never  for  one  moment,  either  at 
this  period  of  his  career,  or  at  any  other,  did  he  have 
a  single  thing  on  earth  to  do  with  a  tin  can  after  it 
had  a  tomato  in  it!" 

And  here  Mother  fell  over  on  the  couch  and  re- 
marked to  me  that  the  fine  lines  of  Life  were  too  com- 
plicated for  her! 

It  seemed  very  odd  to  me  that  we,  who  were  so 
ill  able  to  bear  it,  should  be  the  center  of  all  the  con- 
fusion and  contention  over  Cousin  Martha's  experi- 
ment in  saving  Mr.  Courtney  Evanston  Ludlow's 
life — without  first  ascertaining  if  her  intentions  were 
pleasing  to  her  friends.  It  must  be  very  careless 
for  a  lady  to  presume  to  think  she  ever  reaches  the 
age,  or  ever  attains  the  position  which  makes  it  possible 
for  her  to  manage  her  own  affairs  in  peace.  The 
family  wrote  all  sorts  of  excited,  upsetting  things  to 
Mother,  attacking  the  situation  with  epigrams  and 
axes.  They  all  waxed  as  analytical  as  a  serious 
lady  novelist,  and  the  popular  agreement  was  that 
"he  must  have  hypnotized  her."  They  all  felt  he 


118  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

UB$J  [53 

must  be  queer  and  Martha  must  be  crazy.  Mother 
said  she  knew  she  would  be  both,  if  something  did 
not  interfere  with  the  U.  S.  mail  service  soon! 

Such  friends  as  wrote  Cousin  Martha,  did  not 
wish  her  well,  of  course,  until  they  were  prepared  to 
say  sweet  things,  so,  no  doubt,  the  honeymoon  was 
more  peaceful  at  the  Ludlow  end  than  it  was  at  the 
Carr  end. 

Anyway,  it  ended  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  And 
one  afternoon,  as  I  lay  kicking  my  heels  on  the  couch, 
the  elevator  door  was  slammed  at  our  floor,  our  bell 
rang,  and  Miss  Cummins  admitted  Mrs.  Ludlow. 

In  her  eagerness  to  kiss  me,  she  quite  ignored 
Mother,  and  came  at  once  and  knelt  beside  me, 
devouring  me  with  her  blue  eyes.  I  thought  there 
might  be  a  little  awkwardness  in  the  air,  so  I  did  the 
diverting  thing  in  dropping  the  lid  of  the  talcum  pow- 
der can  which  I  had  been  fingering,  and  I  took  both 
of  Cousin  Martha's  little  pink  ears  and  drew  her 
down  so  that  I  could  give  her  an  open-mouth  kiss, 
such  as  persons  of  helpless  age  like.  Her  eyes  filled 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  119 

with  tears,  and  she  threw  off  her  new  furs,  and  still 
kneeling,  opened  her  new  coat.  Then  looking  at 
Mother,  like  one  in  authority,  she  asked,  "Has  he 
had  his  three  o'clock  meal?" 

Her  assumption  of  responsibility,  instead  of  irri- 
tating Mother,  as  I  feared  it  might  (there  has  always 
been  a  touch  of  jealousy  between  them  over  me), 
struck  her  as  being  humorous,  and  she  replied,  re- 
spectfully, like  a  well  trained  nurse,  "He  has,  madam. 
In  fact,  he  has  been  fed  several  times  since  your  de- 
parture." 

"Oh,  dear  girl,  you  know  what  I  mean!  I  did  not 
mean  to — I — "  stammered,  Cousin  Martha. 

"I  understand,"  said  Mother,  smiling.  "Did  you 
have  a  good  time?" 

"Fine — lovely.  But  tell  me — is  he  getting  enough 
air?" 

They  had  a  fairly  natural  visit,  without  any  ref- 
erences to  anything  heavy  in  hand.  Mother  agreed 
to  dine  with  the  Ludlows  the  following  evening. 
But  on  second  thoughts  they  changed  the  time  to 


120  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

this  evening,  and  Mother  telephoned  Father  to  come 
home  to  dress.  Miss  Cummins  did  not  hurry  back 
to  the  kitchen,  after  letting  Cousin  Martha  out,  until 
she  got  the  gist  of  things  from  Mother's  end  of  the 
wire.  Miss  Cummins  makes  it  a  point  of  honor  not 
to  miss  anything,  and  she  is  always  pleased  to  have 
my  parents  dine  out,  on  which  occasions,  some  one 
usually  dines  in,  with  her.  Miss  Cummins  never 
gets  around  to  mentioning  such  items  to  Mother,  and  I 
can't. 

Well,  I  heard  about  the  first  dinner  in  time,  bit 
by  bit.  It  seems  that  the  Ludlow  house  is  most 
impressive,  having  but  one  marring  feature — a  canary 
bird.  Mother  hopes  if  this  bird  ever  gives  out,  they 
won't  replace  it,  because  she  says  she  never  can  as- 
sociate Martha  with  a  canary  bird.  But  one  has  to 
associate  Cousin  Martha  with  much  that  is  strange 
to  us  who  have  known  her  before  she  acquired  this 
happiness  and  a  funny  coat-of-mail  that  stands  in  a 
spooky  corner  of  the  hall  for  guests  to  run  into  acci- 
dentally, like  a  burglar  alarm. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  121 

During  the  salad  course,  Mother  made  so  bold 
as  to  lean  forward  and  say,  "Just  what  ever  possessed 
you  two  to  do  this  thing?" 

"We  were  driven  to  it,"  innocently  answered  Cou- 
sin Martha. 

"Certainly!"  Mr.  Ludlow  took  up  the  idea — Cou- 
sin Courtney,  I  mean  to  say.  "There  was  nothing 
else  for  us  to  do.  I  would  not  let  her  go  back  to  Park 
Hill;  she  would  not  live  in  a  hotel  alone  here — and 
you  frankly  told  her  you  did  not  want  her  to  live 
with  you  any  more.  Therefore,  my  dear  cousin-in- 
law,  we  married  expressly  to  oblige  tjou,  as  you 
forced  it!  Won't  you  have  one  of  the  cheese-straws? 
Mary — the  cheese-straws  to  Mrs.  Carr." 

I  can  hardly  believe  it,  but  my  Father  and  my 
Mother  were  both  so  astonished  by  such  quiet,  colossal 
bluff,  that  they  simply  had  no  words  with  which  to 
make  remonstrances.  By  the  time  they  had  revived 
sufficiently  to  make  any  explanations  or  defense,  the 
time  had  passed  when  it  was  opportune — or  even  civil — 
to  speak  again  upon  the  subject. 


122  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Thus  did  the  adroit  Mr.  Courtney  Evanston  Lud- 
low  do  his  finest  bit  of  work — just  as  easily  as  I  drop 
my  Mother's  clock!  In  the  face  of  what  most  men 
would  regard  as  impossibility,  he  had  done  exactly 
what  he  wished;  and  with  his  own  peculiar  grace,  he 
had  turned  the  tables  on  the  dissatisfied  on-lookers. 
And  he  further  strengthened  his  stand  by  firmly 
having  them  appreciate — once  and  for  all  time — that 
they  had  accepted  his  version  of  the  story,  without 
raising  a  breath  of  a  murmur.  It  was  a  marvelous 
play — marvelous! 

When  Father  and  Mother  came  home,  they  sat 
down  to  think  things  over.  I  daresay  that  Mother, 
at  any  rate,  was  too  exhausted  to  be  quick  when  Mr. 
Ludlow  sprang  this  upon  them,  and  Father  was  so 
sick  of  it  all  that  he  was  glad  enough  to  let  the  whole 
episode  slide  along  on  the  surface.  By  the  time  he  real- 
ized that  this  point  ought  to  be  fought  out  to  an  under- 
standing, it  was  too  late,  too.  When  he  got  home, 
the  humor  of  it  was  all  that  he  had  in  mind.  The 
comedy  was  so  delightful,  it  was  almost  paining  him. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  123 

in m 

"I  wish  Clyde  Fitch  would  live  with  us  for  a  while," 
he  remarked.  "I  should  like  to  see  that  man  get 
the  right  material  for  a  good  play,  once!" 

"Well,"  drawled  Mother  from  the  depth  of  her 
defeat,  "for  a  man  that  can't  face  happiness,  I  think 
Cousin  Courtney  is  doing  as  well  as  could  be  expected. 
And  as  a  life-saving  station,  Martha  is  superb!" 


LIFE  must  be  an  extraordinary  thing — I   am 
studying  it  with  interest.     How  things  should 
happen  according  to  books,  I  do  not  know. 
I  know  only  real  things.     Our  lives  are  real  lives, 
and  a  strange  thing  has  come  about.     Just  as  Cousin 
Martha  is  destined  to  live  here,  we  are  going  to  Park 
Hill    to    live.      Cousin    Martha  thought  she  would 
never  live  in  New  York,  and  we  thought  we  should 
never  live  anywhere  else,  all  of  which  goes  to  show 
that  one  should  not  waste  time  thinking. 

When  Mother  told  Cousin  Martha  to-day,  two  slow 
tears  rolled  down  her  pink  cheeks.  I  got  an  idea 
stupidly,  that  she  was  doing  something  to  amuse  me, 
so  I  sat  on  her  lap  and  chuckled  delightedly.  But 
Mother's  apparent  effort  at  being  commonplace 

brought  me  to  my  senses,  and  I  realized  that  Cousin 

124 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  125 

Martha  was  full  of  sadness.  Mother,  too.  But 
not  me  exactly. 

When  this  hard  visit  was  over,  in  came  Grand- 
mother Carr,  whose  sorrow  at  our  going  was  of  the 
tearless  kind,  which  made  it  even  more  difficult  for 
Mother  to  be  commonplace.  I  felt  depressed  in  my 
own  way,  also.  I  don't  believe  the  new  relatives  I 
am  going  to  will  understand  me  as  well  as  these  in 
New  York,  who  have  known  me.  They  are  strangers 
and  probably  will  give  me  shoes  that  I  cannot  untie, 
myself.  I  doubt  if  they  will  make  good  spring  boards 
or  have  the  consideration  to  wear  two  sets  of  eye- 
glasses on  tiny  chains  which  kindly  get  themselves 
lost  in  laces,  for  me  to  find  and  yank.  Every  person 
of  helpless  age  is  a  yankist,  and  glad  of  it. 

The  packing,  boxing  and  final  details  are  trying. 
Mother  is  so  hurried,  and  Miss  Clara  Cummins  is 
so  irritated  that  when  I  try  to  stand  alone  by  hanging 
onto  the  couch  cover  like  a  ship-wrecked  sailor 
making  his  last  attempt  to  live,  they  let  me  fall — and 
stay  fallen.  I  never  before  was  so  lonely. 


126  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m gi 

This  afternoon  I  really  felt  sorry  for  Mother.  She 
has  tried  to  do  too  much,  lunching  and  dining  with 
people  who  could  have  entertained  her  any  time  during 
the  years  spent  in  New  York,  but  who  never  got 
around  to  it  until  they  heard  she  was  leaving.  Up- 
growns  amuse  me!  They  so  often  postpone  enter- 
taining you  until  you  are  in  some  awful  confusion  and 
too  exhausted  to  see  your  way  out  of  accepting  the 
added  strain  on  your  raw  nerves;  and  they  give  you 
flowers  mostly  after  you  are  dead,  or  when  you  are 
wildly  dashing  for  a  train  and  already  have  too  much 
stuff  to  carry.  But,  perhaps,  if  this  were  not  true, 
there  could  be  no  touching  little  magazine  verses 
entitled,  "Alas!  too  late!"  P.  S.  I  got  the  suggestion 
for  this  idea  from  Mother. 

Well,  between  trying  to  be  polite  to  everybody  and 
having  to  decide  on  the  disposition  of  every  article, 
personal  and  household,  that  belongs  to  us,  Mother 
is  all  un-strung  again.  I  do  all  I  can  to  help  by 
mussing  up  piles  of  linens  that  are  stacked  ready  for 
the  packer,  I  had  just  decided  to  dust  up  one  corner 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  127 

ES3 Gg3 

E83 ESS 

of  the  room  with  an  embroidered  "centerpiece," 
when  Mother,  v/ho  was  standing  on  a  rocking  chair 
(useless  wear  on  the  nervous  system),  unearthed  from 
the  top  shelf  of  the  closet  the  bonnet  with  the  white 
ruche  and  the  black  clouds,  that  was  now  unneces- 
sary encumbrance  No.  3/6. 

"Good  heavens!"  she  crossly  exclaimed,,  clinging 
to  the  shelf  as  the  chair  almost  rocked  her  off  her 
balance.  "What  in  the  name  of  kingdom-come  am 
I  to  do  with  this?" 

Suddenly  Miss  Cummins*  kinky  head  was  thrust 
into  the  room — her  feet,  which  were  encased  in  a 
pair  of  Father's  shoes  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of 
borrowing  unbeknown  to  my  parents,  were  con- 
servatively detained  in  the  hall.  "Mis'  Carr?"  she 
spoke  in  tones  between  a  plea  and  a  command,  "Mis' 
Carr,  say,  please  mam,  don't  do  nothing  to  that 
mournin'  bonnet — don't  throw  it  away,  1  asks  you, 
Mis'  Carr!  Give  it  to  me,  please  mam — and  some- 
body will  jes  have  to  die!" 

Well,  this  kind  of  thing  went  on  for  a  weeKi  until, 


128  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

before  we  could  realize  it,  Cousin  Martha  and  Cou- 
sin Courtney  had  said  goodbye,  and  the  P.  P.  C. 
cards  v/ere  all  posted,  and  the  janitor  had  carefully 
looked  over  all  the  trash  sent  down  from  our  apartment 
on  the  dumb-waiter  (finding,  to  his  disgust,  that 
Miss  Cummins  had  appropriated  everything  worth 
while),  and  a  carriage  stood  at  the  door  of  our 
building. 

Father,  Mother,  Miss  Cummins,  luggage,  flowers, 
books,  magazines,  and  myself  and  my  white  Teddy 
Bear  all  drove  to  a  noisy  place  which  had  a  glass 
roof  growing  over  it  to  keep  the  smoke  in.  There 
were  many  chimneys  there  with  wheels  on  them,  all 
of  them  doing  their  very  best  to  make  the  breathing 
poor.  Mother  would  have  had  the  windows  open, 
had  we  lived  there,  while  Father  would  have  made 
remarks.  I  never  breathed  such  solid  air  since  Miss 
Cummins  and  I  so  unhappily  sterilized  the  horse's 
tail  which  formerly  constituted  the  Grecian  Bun  at 
the  back  of  Miss  Cummins'  head. 

Clara  held  me,  and  sobbed  all  the  way.     By  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  129 

time  we  went  through  the  gate  to  our  particular 
sitting-room  on  wheels,  Clara's  face  had  all  run  to- 
gether. She  cried  so  hard  and  so  long  that  she  looked 
like  a  composite  photograph — vague,  you  know,  and 
pathetic.  Even  Mother's  only  decent  scissors  and 
my  rubber  doll  and  the  other  little  things  that  nobody 
ever  gave  her,  but  which  I  knew  were  in  her  pockets 
— (she,  naturally,  would  not  mention  these  trifles, 
and  I  could  not) — did  not  seem  to  comfort  her  for  the 
loss  of  me. 

It  was  not  long  until  trees  and  houses  were  running 
past  us,  almost  as  quickly  as  they  pranced  by  when 
we  were  out  in  Cousin  Courtney's  automobile.  It 
would  have  made  the  joy  keener  to  have  had  Banks 
with  us  making  remarks  of  disappointment  because 
we  never  hit  anything,  but  still,  even  without  him  it 
was  diverting.  Banks'  memory  was  dimmed  a  little 
bit  by  entertaining  winks  from  the  Cummins-colored 
man  who  wore  a  white  jacket,  and  who  always 
stayed  lost  when  we  rang  a  button  that  was  worn  on 
the  woodwork  of  our  unsteady  sitting-room. 


130  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m ^ 

I  heard  them  saying  that  travelling  with  a  baby 
is  most  wearing.  Perhaps  it  is — but  it  didn't  wear 
on  the  baby — not  this  time.  I  did  just  as  I  always 
do,  only  more  of  it.  If  I  wanted  to  shriek  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  I  shrieked.  Of  course.  Why 
not?  Wouldn't  you  have  done  the  same?  You 
don't  have  to  answer!  Mother  and  I  know. 

Well,  after  three  days'  worth  of  vacant  lots  and 
red  water  tanks  and  cities  that  were  so  small  they  had 
to  wear  the  names  of  themselves  on  the  railroad  sta- 
tion for  fear  they  would  get  mixed,  we  at  last  arrived 
at  Park  Hill,  too  late  for  me  to  be  sitting  up.  I 
sniffed  at  the  strange  people  who  met  us  at  the  local 
place  where  the  wheeled  smoke-stacks  live  in  great 
numbers — but  without  any  glass  roof  growing  over 
them,  this  time. 

If  any  of  these  relatives  had  any  eye-glasses,  they 
wore  them  out  of  sight.  They  looked  unpromising 
to  me,  so  I  sniffed  some  more.  A  gentleman  with 
curling  gray  hair  and  a  fine  smile  (if  one  felt  like 
being  smiled  upon),  threw  put  his  chest  and  said 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  131 

m ; us 

with  pride  that  to  be  the  grandfather  of  so  splendid 
a  child,  was  the  crowning  reward  of  a  hard  life. 
Ha!  If  he  thinks  his  life  has  been  hard  up  to  the 
present  number  on  the  calendar,  I  just  wonder  what 
it  will  be  from  now  on?  They  don't  seem  to  feel  it 
necessary  to  explain  these  introductions  to  me,  but 
I  imagine  that  he  of  the  gray  hair  belongs  to  my 
Mother — anyhow  they  both  have  noses  just  the  same. 
If  he  produces  some  eye-glasses,  I  will  be  his  little 
boy — perhaps. 

There  were  an  awful  lot  of  them,  among  whom 
was  a  lady  with  gray  hair,  too,  who  kissed  me  and 
kissed  me.  As  she  seemed  to  be  enjoying  it,  I  let 
her  go  on.  She  cried  a  few  tears  over  me — don't 
see  the  point,  myself.  I  have  not  done  anything  yet 
to  make  her  cry.  I  haven't  had  time.  I  suppose 
she  is  my  other  grandmother — they  say  grandmothers 
act  like  this.  I  certainly  should  be  relieved  to  know 
where  she  keeps  her  eye-glasses.  Very  annoying  not 
to  be  English  speaking.  My  vocabulary  consists 
of  four  words,  none  of  which  is  eye-glasses.  I  can 


132  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

say,  "Mummah,"  "Dadda,"  "bye-bye"  and  "kitty"- 
but  I  don't  want  any  of  these. 

Mother,  who  knows  me  best,  hurried  me  to  bed. 
And,  believe  me,  I  was  glad  of  it,  for  they  hadn't 
stopped  hugging  me  or  even  got  their  hats  off,  before 
they  started  in  to  discuss  the  grocery  business  as  an 
adjunct  to  the  family.  And  if  there  is  a  topic  that 
is  worn  threadbare  already,  it  is  the  Ludlows.  If 
I  have  to  stand  much  more  of  it,  I  shall  scream! 

Besides  waking  up  the  next  morning  to  find  it 
daylight,  just  as  it  is  in  the  morning  in  New  York, 
I  have  become  quite  interested  in  my  new  real  friends, 
and  have  also  found  time  to  have  a  birthday,  whether 
I  wanted  it,  or  not.  I  am  one  year  old,  and  have 
three  new  Teddy  Bears,  although  I  am  Mother's 
real  Teddy  Bear.  I  sit  on  her  lap,  and  she  pokes  my 
ribs  and  squeaks  like  my  toys.  The  game  is  fairly 
amusing — when  Mother  does  not  over-do  the  rib- 
poking  part.  However,  I  am  for  it,  if  she  feels  any 
good  comes  of  it.  I  got  many  presents — I  got — but 
I  won't  say  what  I  got,  because  once  my  Mother  re- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  133 

marked  it  made  her  tired  to  have  to  hear  what  people 
had  to  eat  at  parties,  or  to  have  them  tell  her  what 
they  got  for  Christmas  when  they  wrote  her  about 
once  a  year — every  July  or  August.  Never  mind 
what  I  got — but  I  liked  *em! 

The  hose  with  water  pouring  out  of  it  on  the  lawn, 
is  the  best  thing  yet.  We  didn't  have  one  of  these 
in  the  New  York  apartment.  I  like  it  better  than 
the  dumb-waiter,  though  it  would  be  good,  now  and 
then,  to  hear  Miss  Cummins  telling  the  janitor  what 
she  thought  of  the  way  he  sat  down  on  the  job  of 
keeping  the  heat  up — I  should  dearly  love  to  hear 
her  voice  echoing  in  the  elevator  shaft,  blending  with 
the  larger  tones  of  the  janitor's  retorts,  while  Mother 
was  out.  But  loveliest  of  all  it  would  have  been, 
if  Miss  Cummins  and  I  had  had  this  hose  and  this 
fresh  water  up  on  the  seventh  floor  when  the  janitor 
put  his  face  in  and  yelled  up  the  shaft!  I  wonder  if 
Life  has  many  might-have-beens  that  are  as  joyous 
thoughts  as  this? 

We  are  soon  to  leave  this  large  family  for  an  apart- 


134  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

merit  of  our  own.  I  shall  be  sorry,  for  I  like  to  be 
talked  baby-talk  to,  and  given  many  things  that  it 
is  quite  wrong  I  should  eat.  It  reminds  me  of  Miss 
Clara  Cummins.  I  can't  get  over  the  way  Clara 
cried  when  we  parted,  it  was  such  a  surprise  to  find 
that  her  tears  were  white,  like  Mother's.  I  supposed 
that  the  tears  of  one  who  was  dark  brown  almost 
unto  blackness,  would  be  tan-colored,  at  least.  Not 
so,  however. 

All  these  demonstrative  persons  are  enthusiastic 
over  me,  but  I  miss  her  who  used  to  call  me  "de 
Bootifuls,"  and  I  haven't  discovered  an  eye-glass  in 
the  whole  family!  I  heard  him  of  the  curling  gray 
hair  asking  if  anybody  had  any  idea  where  he  had 
mislaid  his — and  that  is  the  nearest  I  have  come  to 
seeing  a  pair.  Besides,  I  find  we  are  related  to  a 
black,  woolly  dog,  a  cat  that  is  not  rubber,  and 
chickens  that  wink  from  the  bottom,  up;  not  from  the 
top,  down — which  is  the  way  my  young  uncles  wink. 
The  chickens  we  had  in  New  York  had  had  the 
feather-dusters  taken  off  of  them,  and  were  un-wink- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  135 

ing,  and  arrived  in  brown  paper  bundles.  These 
that  are  cousins  of  mine,  are  different.  I  often  crawl 
to  the  wire  fence  that  grows  up  between  them  and 
me,  and  lying  very  still,  I  watch  them  wink.  Chicken 
winking,  while  not  so  significant  as  up-grown  winking, 
still  is  fascinating.  I  wish  Miss  Cummins  could  see 
me  here! 

But,  with  all  the  baby-talk  and  unsolicited  kisses 
I  am  getting  free,  I  must  say,  if  I  speak  my  mind 
truly,  that  I  believe  you  can  rent  more  depth  of  devo- 
tion than  you  can  inherit.  I  know  that  among  my 
new  relatives  there  is  no  one  who  would  kill  a  janitor 
for  me,  or  keep  her  temper  down  if  I  were  exasperat- 
ing, which  I  have  the  art  of  being,  often.  There  is 
nothing  but  an  omelet  back  of  these  chicken's  winks, 
but  when  Miss  Cummins  winked  at  you,  you  knew 
it  meant  you  had  a  friend  worth  while. 

One  of  my  new  aunts  has  given  me  a  big  rag  doll 
which  she  has  called  for  herself — Beatrice.  My  name 
for  my  doll  is  Miss  Clara  Cummins.  I  can't  speak  Eng- 
lish, so  there  are  no  hurt  feelings,  but  Cummins  stands. 


CHAPTER  X 

I  CANNOT  say  how  great  a  miscalculation  we 
made  in  fancying  we  were  fleeing  from  Ludlow 
conversations  and  complications,  by  leaving 
New  York.  Why,  the  real  story  lived  in  the  East, 
was  child's  play  in  comparison  to  stepping  into  the 
continuous  anti-climax  we  found  awaiting  us  in  the 
West.  Everybody  we  know  in  Park  Hill  is  some- 
one who  once  was  a  friend  of  Cousin  Martha's— 
but  who  isn't  now,  because  she  lives  too  far  away 
to  take  them  flowers  when  they  are  ill  or  give  them 
dinner  parties.  Cousin  Martha  is  out  of  favor  be- 
cause she  presumed  to  marry  a  grocer,  without  con- 
sulting her  calling  list  or  the  calendar.  Everybody 
feels  very  superior. 

Several  silk-lined  ladies  have  been  in  to  call  on 
Mother  in  our  new  home,  speaking  in  low,  constrained 

tones  and  radiating  the  impression  that  they  feel  un- 

136 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  137 

comfortable  at  being  seen  coming  in.  One  would 
suppose  from  the  manner  of  the  callers  that  they  were 
visiting  the  scene  of  a  murder,  and  prayed  not  to  be 
caught  at  it.  All  this  because  Cousin  Martha  married 
without  telling  anyone — even  Mother  did  not  know 
until  two  hours  before  the  wedding,  but  this  item, 
naturally,  would  hardly  calm  the  injured  acquain- 
tances. And  then  some  dear  friend  started  the  stir- 
ring report  that  to  her  absolute  knowledge  the  bride- 
groom used  to  scoop  prunes  out  of  a  bin,  himself — 
so  there!  And  ten  to  one,  he  still  did  it  when  they 
were  rushed  for  help  on  Saturdays — but  she  wasn't 
sure  of  this — this  was  just  her  own  theory,  to  be  sure, 
but  the  chances  were  she  was  more  than  correct. 
If,  as  they  said,  he  had  an  automobile,  it  probably 
was  a  rented  one,  and  his  being  a  Yale  man  sounded 
well,  but  they'd  like  to  see  his  sheep-skin.  No  man 
who  was  a  graduate  of  a  good  college  would  ever 
have  allowed  the  woman  he  loved  to  treat  her  friends 
so  that  they  could  not,  with  self-respect,  continue  to 
befriend  her — and  to  think  of  all  they  had  done  for 


138  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

TO  cga 

BS  as 

that  woman,  too!  And  as  for  this  man  Ludlow's 
having  a  system  of  grocery  stores  all  over  greater 
New  York  and  conducting  his  business  from  an  office, 
as  some  one  of  the  more  generous-minded  persons 
had  given  out — well,  this  was  nothing  short  of  a  cam- 
paign lie,  and  they  could  prove  it! 

One  of  the  dames  calling  on  us  to-day,  cleared  her 
throat  twice  and  then  hesitatingly  asked,  "Urn — a — 
a — how  is  Martha?" 

Mother  thanked  the  lady  and  said  that  Martha 
was  very  happy,  having  a  charming  home  and  a 
delightful  husband. 

But  the  dame  went  on,  quite  recklessly,  "Well, 
well,  I  am  glad  I'm  sure!  But  has  Martha  any  friends 
in  New  York?" 

"Oh,"  replied  Mother,  thoughtfully,  "yes — if  there 
are  any  such  things  in  the  world  as  friends,  she  has." 

"I  am  so  glad,"  purred  the  lady  softly.  "But  she 
— she  naturally  has  no  social  position  in  New  York, 
has  she?"  This  one  of  "our  select  social  leaders" 
as  the  Sunday  paper  had  classed  her  for  some  years, 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  139 

and  an  old  intimate  of  Cousin  Martha's,  would  probe 
further! 

Mother  looked  at  her,  unruffled,  and  emotionless. 
"Well,  n-no,"  she  drawled,  lightly.  "No,  she  has 
no  position  of  any  consequence — she  associates  with 
just  the  same  grade  of  people  she  always  knew  here." 

The  longer  one  thinks  this  over,  the  prettier  it  is — 
but  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  my  Mother  reflects  the  attitude 
of  the  women  with  whom  she  speaks.  If  they  are 
cats,  she  is  a  tigress,  and  is  quite  as  sweet  as  they  are. 
But  the  sly  digs  of  the  claws  go  awfully  deep  with 
her.  She  re  all  keyed  for  insults,  having  a  large 
piece  of  kindling  wood  on  her  shoulder  all  the  time, 
although  this  stick  is  like  the  iron  buckle  at  her  throat 
— one  can't  see  it. 

This  is  my  troublesome  age.  I  am  no  longer  con- 
tent to  be  put  down  somewhere  and  stay  there.  Not 
at  all — not  for  a  fraction  of  an  instant,  believe  me!  I 
crawl  everywhere,  but  I  am  trying  to  walk,  with  the 
result  that  I  fall  down  and  scream.  I  fret  the  whole 
live-long  time  because  of  my  teeth  and  my  natural 


140  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

inclination.  The  lady  who  lives  in  the  apartment 
under  us  (and  who  allows  her  boy  to  romp  in  the  house 
with  his  puppy  until  one  would  think  a  sham  battle 
in  progress,)  complains,  subtly,  of  my  crying — every 
time  her  boy  has  waked  me.  "Your  baby  must  be 
ill,  Mrs.  Carr,"  she  says.  "He  cries  so  hard  every 
night  about  eleven.  It  does  Jiot  annoy  usf  of  course, 
but  have  you  ever  tried  spanking  him?" 

We  haven't  any  Miss  Cummins  out  here — Mother 
does  everything  for  me,  and  I  help  her  all  I  can  by 
keeping  things  constantly  mussed  up.  My  Father 
says  he  is  going  to  have  a  flock  of  hens  follow  me 
about  to  pick  up  the  trail  of  crumbs  I  leave  behind  me, 
and  my  Mother  says  she  is  going  to  invent  a  machine 
which  she  can  turn  on  to  bring  me  up — one  which 
will  say,  "No-no,  darling — don't  do  that!"  But 
such  a  machine  would  not  bother  me  any  more  than 
my  Mother's  tired,  persistent  voice  does — which  is, 
to  tell  the  truth,  not  at  all. 

When  we  passed  the  down-stairs  lady's  door  to- 
day, she  popped  out,  as  if  by  accident  at  that  moment, 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  141 

fga  SB 

as —  — wca 

and  said,  "Your  baby  falls  down  a  great  deal,  doesn't 
he,  Mrs.  Carr?  It  never  would  worry  me,  of  course, 
but  did  you  ever  try  taking  him  in  your  lap  and  try- 
ing to  interest  him  in  quiet  things  like  pictures?" 
And  just  here,  the  lady's  rough  little  boy  of  twelve 
almost  knocked  us  down  in  his  hurry  to  pass  us  with 
his  rough  little  playmates,  bent  upon  their  favorite 
game  of  yelling  and  sliding  down  the  public  balus- 
trade, from  the  top  of  the  house  to  the  bottom. 

But  don't  think  I  am  the  only  noise  in  this  build- 
ing, please!  Besides  my  howling,  we  have  alarm 
clocks;  machines  which  roar  out  distressing  comic 
songs  through  large  horns  attached  to  them,  so  that 
the  neighbors  may  miss  none  of  the  disturbances 
(the  down-stairs  little  boy  has  one  which  we  hope 
will  die  of  over-work  soon);  pianos,  some  played  by 
hand  and  others  by  foot,  but  all  of  them  played; 
beaten  biscuit;  dogs  that  are  left  to  bark  and  whine 
alone  by  the  hour;  other  children  and  their  friends; 
bridge  parties  at  all  times;  besides  all  kinds  of  a  row 
going  on  next  door,  where  they  split  the  morning 


142  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

kindling  in  the  court  at  twelve  at  night  (Pa  always 
forgets  it  until  just  before  he  turns  in,  I  suppose),  have 
a  house  full  of  boarders,  an  untuned  piano  and  a 
young  lady  daughter  with  a  terrible  voice  but  good 
lungs — and  an  alive  duck  in  the  back  yard,  which, 
while  being  fed-up  to  grow  fat  for  Christmas,  is  im- 
proving his  last  chance  by  quacking  all  night,  every 
night.  This  is  a  long  enough  sentence,  I  hope,  but 
I  could  not  stop  until  I  had  told  you  all  the  reasons 
why  I  am  not  the  only  noise  living  here.  I  often  long 
for  the  quiet  of  a  little  talk  between  Miss  Clara  Cum- 
mins and  the  New  York  janitor! 

Mother's  nerves  are  worse  than  they  have  been 
since  we  used  to  live  down  where  the  waters  beat 
upon  the  sands,  and  we  watched  it  stay  night  until 
the  land  birds  began  to  sing.  Her  capacity  for  suffer- 
ing is  remarkable.  She  gets  more  pain  out  of  the 
daily  annoyances  of  Life,  both  coming  and  going, 
than  anyone  you  ever  met.  She  suffers  because  we 
are  disturbing  the  down-stairs  lady,  and  she  suffers 
because  the  lady's  down-stairs  boy  is  worrying  us. 


tkir  faVoric  «c  ofjleiiinj 
^ 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  143 

But  she  suffers  most  because  she  sees  what  a  mistake 
it  is  to  suffer,  and  she  cannot  help  suffering.  Sorry. 

In  this  wonderful  climate  it  is  not  fashionable  for 
persons  of  helpless  age  to  sleep  out  of  doors,  as  it 
is  in  the  less  reliable  climate  of  New  York,  and  be- 
cause I  have  to  take  my  nap  in  my  wagon  on  the 
balcony,  one  of  the  boarders  next  door  sent  word  by 
the  janitor  of  our  building  that  I  was  a  case  that  ought 
to  be  investigated.  He  has  watched  me  on  cold 
mornings  in  my  woollens,  drag  myself  to  a  sitting 
posture,  weaving  to  and  fro  in  my  pathetic  effort  to 
torture  myself  into  staying  awake,  because  my  Mother 
felt  I  needed  the  sleep,  and  she  needed  the  rest. 

The  down-stairs  lady  called  us  on  the  'phone  to 
assure  us  that  my  shrieking  on  the  balcony  did  not 
annoy  her  (she  was  driven  to  the  back  part  of  the  house 
as  a  rule),  but  did  Mother  really  feel  it  advisable  for 
a  baby  to  be  taking  in  so  much  raw  air  through  his 
mouth? 

I  can  walk — I  could  walk  when  I  was  fourteen 
months  old,  but  it  was  wobbly  walking.  Now  I 


144  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Ega era 

as  — as 

am  of  fifteen  months'  age,  and  to-day  I  walked  to 
the  corner  to  post  a  letter  with  my  Mother.  It  was 
the  first  time  I  ever  walked  out  with  a  lady,  and  I  was 
very  proud.  But  my  Mother  is  a  tired  lady,  and  the 
letter  she  carried  was  a  tired  letter,  full  of  longing  for 
New  York,  and  a  night's  sleep.  I  wanted  to  crawl 
up  onto  a  wet,  soggy  lawn,  but  Mother  could  see  no 
reason  in  this  desire.  I  wanted  to  sit  down  on  the 
car  track,  but  this,  too,  met  with  lack  of  sympathy. 
My  Mother  sighed.  Possibly  she  was  bored — no- 
body had  insulted  her  about  her  cousin's  affairs  for 
nearly  a  week. 

We  went  home,  and  Mother  carried  me  up  stairs. 
She  is  not  strong  enough  to  do  this,  but  I  had  no  in- 
tention of  even  trying  to  be  my  own  elevator.  In 
the  house,  she  made  me  comfortable,  and  then  dropped 
on  the  couch  and  closed  her  eyes.  But  I  stood  at 
her  head,  fretting  and  crying  by  turns.  I,  too,  was 
bored.  Mother  lay  still  trying  to  tell  herself  that 
she  was  quite  happy  and  that  I  was  lovely  and  that 
all  Life  was  beautiful!  I  knew  from  the  damp  eye- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  145 

lashes  that  this  was  a  day-dream  and  one  which 
ought  to  be  broken  into  promptly,  so  I  hurried  off 
and  got  some  nasty,  sharp-edged  little  blocks,  which 
I  forced  into  her  ears,  and  stacked  on  her  face,  and 
with  which  I  struck  at  her  cheeks.  The  more  she 
brushed  them  off,  the  faster  I  put  them  back;  and  each 
time  I  put  them  back,  I  hurt  her  a  little  more  than  I 
had  the  time  before.  I  don't  know  exactly  whether 
I  did  this  on  purpose,  or  not.  All  persons  of  helpless 
age  do  such  things,  especially  when  constantly  thrown 
into  the  company  of  un-playing  up-growns. 

My  Mother  is  very  un-playing — she  cannot  help  it. 
She  wants  to  be  working  every  moment.  She  always 
thinks  of  the  things  she  ought  to  be  doing — things 
that  count  for  something — every  time  she  sits  on  the 
floor  among  my  blocks.  Does  it,  or  does  it  not  count 
for  something  for  an  up-grown  to  play  with  blocks? 
Both  my  Mother  and  I  have  wondered.  And,  pray 
tell  me,  when  toy-makers  are  putting  paint  on  the 
outside  of  blocks,  why  don't  they  put  a  little  bit  of 
joy  in  the  varnish  just  to  help  one's  mother?  . 


146  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

H) Hi 

To-day,  my  Mother  raised  herself  rather  lumbering- 
ly  from  the  couch,  and  sat  down  on  the  floor  and  did 
the  best  she  could  to  amuse  me.  But  it  was  one  of 
my  rude  days,  and  I  rebelled  every  time  she  put  one 
block  on  top  of  another.  Books  did  not  please  me, 
the  top  nearly  drove  me  wild,  and  I  threw  my  rag 
doll,  Clara  Cummins,  straight  in  her  face!  I  think 
she  would  have  cried,  if  she  hadn't  been  too  tired  to 
cry.  She  just  looked  me  right  in  the  eye,  and  said, 
sadly,  "I  would  do  better  for  you,  little  boy,  if  I  could. 
I  am  afraid  it  is  not  in  me  to  play — you  probably 
feel  the  lack  of  spontaneity.  I  don't  blame  you.  I 
suppose  there  isn't  anything  for  us  to  do,  but  sit  and 
work  it  out,  together." 

I  have  often  wondered  just  how  old  my  Mother 
thinks  I  am.  She  talks  to  me  in  up-grown  English, 
and  leaves  decisions  with  me,  quite  as  though  I  were 
Father!  Having  paid  me  this  tribute  in  her  treat- 
ment of  me,  I  daresay  it  is  unfair  of  me  to  have  taken 
every  atom  of  her  strength,  in  the  first  place,  and  then, 
deliberately  to  use  it  against  her — day  in  and  day  out, 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  147 

RH R2a 

as —  — ESS 

night  in  and  night  out!  But  I  will  be  older,  someday, 
and  perhaps — different.  And  I  am  not  the  only 
person  of  helpless  age  that  does  these  things! 

A  little  boy  comes  to  our  house  who  is  four  months 
younger  than  I  am,  better  looking  than  I  and  con- 
siderably smarter — but  just  as  difficult.  They  call 
him  "Sonny,"  and  I  don't  know  what  his  water-on- 
the-head  name  is  that  he  got  in  church.  His  Mother 
and  my  Mother  have  been  friends  many  years,  and 
I  trust  that  Sonny  and  I  will  not  break  into  their 
sweet  relationship,  though  we  are  doing  the  best 
we  can!  Sonny  does  just  what  I  do — he  gets 
teeth  and  keeps  his  parents  up  all  night,  and 
causes  complaints  from  the  other  tenants.  His 
Mother,  too,  is  a  very  tired  Mother. 

Sonny  and  I  are  rough  with  each  other,  but  rougher 
with  each  other's  toys.  Our  Mothers  try  to  keep  us 
separated,  and  to  spare  enough  of  the  playthings  to 
do  for  the  next  session,  and  each  says  that  her  boy  is 
at  fault.  We  don't  want  our  own  cookies — we 
want  each  other's,  which  we  snatch,  screaming  fit 


148  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

to  call  the  police.  When  at  last  Sonny's  Mother  has 
got  him  in  his  go-cart,  headed  for  home,  the  down- 
stairs lady  comes  up  to  see  us.  "You  had  a  little 
visitor  to-day,  didn't  you?"  she  begins — as  though 
there  could  be  any  doubt  about  it!  "Of  course,  I  don't 
mind — but,  seriously,  do  you  think  that  child's  mother 
shows  good  judgment  in  taking  him  to  a  place  where 
he  is  so  upset  that  he  is  apt  to  rupture  himself  crying?" 
And  it  not  infrequently  happens  after  one  of  these 
exciting  Mothers'  Meetings,  that  some  silk-lined  lady 
comes  to  call  on  us,  and  tells  Mother  (as  though  she 
were  conferring  a  great  favor  in  propounding  a  new 
and  helpful  theory!)  that  Mother,  in  all  justice  to 
me,  ought  to  have  another  darling  little  baby  for  me 
to  play  with.  And  each  lady,  in  turn,  has  her  elec- 
tric runabout  or  her  brougham  kept  waiting,  while 
Mother  civilly  tells  her  to  stay  well  within  the  sanctum 
of  her  own  province,  in  her  customary  answer — "I 
cannot  see,  dear  madam,  that  it  will  be  any  harder 
for  my  son  to  go  without  a  playmate,  than  it  will  be 
for  me  to  produce  one  for  him!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

I     FRIGHTENED  them,  rather,  by  having  small 
convulsions  in  the  night.    They  sent  for  a  phy- 
sician, but  by  the  time  he  arrived,  I  had  gone 
to  sleep,   spending  most  of  the  night  in  most  of 
Daddy's  bed.     I  allowed  him  the  extreme  edge  and 
what  was  left  over  of  the  covers,  and  in  the  morning 
he  said  it  wasn't  any  worse  to  sleep  with  me  than 
with  a  section  of  barbed  wire  fence. 

Father  gives  me  my  bath  lately.  It  is  an  unusual 
thing,  I  know,  for  one's  Father  to  give  baths.  He 
and  I  like  the  idea,  however.  It  is  a  game  with  us. 
Father  gets  me  wet,  and  then  he  gets  me  dry,  but 
Mother  gets  me  clean!  I  like  to  have  Father  attend 
to  this  detail  of  my  life — I  have  more  time  to  play 
with  the  soap. 

I  did  not  look  as  fagged  as  the  rest  of  the  family 

this  morning,  after  our  hard  night.     However,  owing 

149 


150  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

in m 

to  having  turned  greenish-ashen  and  threatened  to 
die  last  evening,  I  was  allowed  to  hold  a  tiny,  stuffed 
ducklet  that  was  given  me  my  first  Easter  by  a  lovely 
lady,  but  between  which  and  me,  my  Mother  ever 
stands.  I  always  want  to  pick  out  the  glass  eyes, 
but  Mother  is  trying  to  save  the  duck  until  I  am  older 
and  more  considerate.  Personally,  I  feel  that  the 
duck's  destiny  is  a  doomed  one,  anyway,  and  I  might 
as  well  have  him  one  time  as  another.  They  are  so 
charitable  about  ducks,  especially  the  alive  one  next 
door.  I  was  not  permitted  to  hold  my  treasure,  un- 
watched.  It  is  hard  for  a  little  boy  to  have  the  child's 
natural  interest  in  finding  out  what  grows  inside  of 
things  combined  with  a  Mother  who  anticipates  him! 
I  find  that  the  Park  Hill  doctors  indulge  in  that 
same  contemptible  practice  of  taking  the  food  away 
from  sick  babies,  which  I  had  heretofore  supposed 
originated  and  ended  with  Mother's  Special  Physi- 
cian. And  yet,  I  hear  the  up-growns  saying  now  and 
then,  that  in  some  ways  the  West  is  broader  than  the 
East!  Possibly — but  this  is  not  one  of  the  ways. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  151 

A  stuffed  duck  that  one  is  not  allowed  to  destroy 
is  a  pretty  poor  substitute  for  one's  breakfast.  I 
know. 

I  have  tried  my  Mother's  soul  to-day.  I  am  sick, 
and  glad  of  it;  I  fret,  and  I  am  glad  of  that.  Some- 
times, I  cry.  Some  of  it  is  traced  to  boredom,  some 
to  cussedness — and  the  rest  is  just  baby.  I  staggered 
out  to  the  dining-room,  and  pulled  the  cloth  off  the 
table  before  the  dishes  had  been  cleared  away.  This 
proved  diverting,  but  did  not  start  the  day  very  well. 

When  Mother  made  the  beds,  I  clung  to  the  brass 
railings,  and  howling  madly,  I  grabbed  each  sheet 
and  blanket  as  it  was  laid  in  place,  and  pulled  it  to 
the  floor.  This  caused  Mother  to  take  me  firmly, 
but  with  kindness  in  her  touch,  and  to  set  me  down 
on  the  floor  in  the  next  room.  She  remarked  in  pass- 
ing, that  she  did  not  intend  to  have  her  white  blankets 
thrown  on  the  rugs,  whether  I  was  sick  or  well.  Her 
manner  implied  she  meant  what  she  said. 

I  daresay  it  would  have  been  nice  of  me  to  have  let 
her  alone,  as  she  was  worn  out  with  a  series  of  bad 


152  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

nights  and  neighborhood  complaints.  But  no — not 
at  all!  What  normal  baby  would  have  done  the 
decent  thing?  None  you  ever  heard  of,  believe  me. 
There  are  Mothers  who  will  tell  you  that  we  help 
them  with  Life's  cares — but  these  are  Mothers  who 
are  old  and  who  have  grown  gentle  toward  their  by- 
gone trials,  or  the  young  Mothers  who  have  someone 
with  whom  to  divide  their  cares.  The  quite  tired 
Mother  of  the  moment,  knows  that  babies  taunt 
up-growns  at  times,  as  animals  have  been  tormented 
in  arenas  for  the  fiendish  amusement  of  morbid  spec- 
tators. The  principal  difference  between  a  bull 
and  a  matador  trying  to  kill  each  other,  and  a  nervous 
Mother  and  a  teething  child  trying  to  be  nice  to  each 
other,  is  that  the  Mother  hasn't  any  applause  to  ease 
the  situation. 

To-day  I  taunted  my  Mother,  and  the  more  it 
seemed  to  upset  her,  the  harder  I  taunted.  As  my 
Mother  sat  trying  to  mend  something  that  must  have 
her  attention  at  once,  I  stood  beside  her,  lurching  for 
the  scissors,  breaking  her  thread,  yanking  at  the  cloth 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  153 

and  swinging  on  her  forearms.  I  turned  to  her  a 
tear-stained  little  face,  full  of  rage  and  demand  and 
discontent.  When  she  could  no  longer  endure  this, 
she  set  her  work  aside,  and  tried  to  show  me  pictures, 
but  I  wickedly  tore  a  page  out  of  the  magazine,  which 
settled  this  possibility  of  entertaining  me,  for  my  Mother 
put  the  pictures  away,  saying  that  books  must  be 
respected — even  by  little  children. 

She  then  started  to  put  the  sitting-room  to  rights. 
Each  thing  she  picked  up,  I  threw  down,  if  I  could 
get  it.  When  she  went  to  sweep  the  floor,  I  established 
my  position  directly  in  front  of  her  broom,  my  mouth 
being  wide  open  to  send  out  shrieks  and  take  in  dust. 
But  I  had  gone  too  far — I  got  a  surprise!  My  Mother 
drew  back  with  her  broom  as  one  might  make  ready 
for  a  tennis  ball,  and  the  next  thing  I  knew,  I  was  a 
mass  of  infuriated  babyhood — on  the  other  side  of 
the  room! 

Here  my  Mother  spoke  aloud,  saying,  "I  cannot 
see  the  reason  in  pressing  human  beings  so  hard  that 
their  actions  bear  no  relation  to  their  own  standards!" 


154  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

It  did  not  hurt  me  to  be  swiftly  rolled  across  the  room 
with  a  broom,  nearly  so  much  as  it  shocked  my  Mother 
to  have  administered  a  broadside  of  just  deserts  to 
one  of  helpless  age. 

Humiliated,  she  picked  me  up  and  took  me  to  the 
kitchen,  where  she  put  me  in  my  high  chair,  while 
she  tried  to  sort  out  the  dishes  I  had  broken  from  those 
that  had  escaped  me  when  I  cleared  the  breakfast 
table  for  her.  She  gave  me  playthings,  which  I 
threw  upon  the  floor,  stiffening  out  in  my  confinement 
and  yelling  at  top  voice.  She  offered  me  a  drink 
of  cooled  water,  which  had  been  boiled  for  me.  I 
hurled  the  cup  out  of  her  hand.  I  much  prefer  plain 
pipe  water,  such  as  Miss  Cummins  used  to  give  me 
in  New  York,  unsterilized  and  right  out  of  the  faucet. 
Miss  Cummins  never  told  this  on  us,  and  I  could  not. 

Mother  said  something  she  would  not  like  to  have 
me  repeat,  and  picked  up  the  pieces  of  the  cup. 
Then,  she  ignored  me  and  worked.  But  I  had  no 
intention  of  being  ignored.  I  resolved  to  make  a 
personally-conducted  tour  around  the  edge  of  the  tray 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  155 

of  my  high  chair.  I  meant  to  crawl  all  the  way 
around  the  rim  of  the  tray,  and  sit  down  in  my  chair 
again,  just  to  show  Mother  that  I  am  a  real  person — 
not  a  theory  on  Race  Suicide.  Well,  I  got  as  far  as 
making  a  promising  beginning,  when — when  I  fell 
heavily  to  the  floor,  hitting  my  head  a  vicious  crack 
on  the  oven  door,  which  lay  out  just  to  spite  me,  open. 

Tell  me,  do  you  think  I  got  picked  up  and  coddled 
and  told  that  it  was  a  beastly  shame  of  the  oven  door 
to  hurt  my  darling  baby  head— and  that  when  I  am 
big  enough  we  will  kick  the  oven  together — miser- 
able thing?  You  do?  Well  then,  there  is  one  thing 
certain — you  don't  know  my  Mother  as  well  as  I  do! 

My  Mother's  hands,  now  strong  in  desperation, 
held  me  fast  under  the  arms,  while  the  rest  of  me  was 
just  dangling  in  air,  as  I  dangle  my  doll,  Miss  Beatrice 
Clara  Cummins,  and  close  to  my  face  I  heard  her 
saying,  "Now,  young  man,  you  have  imposed  upon 
the  fact  that  you  are  teething,  just  about  long  enough! 
You  are  fifteen  months  old — quite  old  enough  to  be- 
gin to  cultivate  the  instincts  of  a  gentleman.  I  have 


156  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

TO  SB 

BS3  Gs2 

done  for  you  all  that  I  am  able  to  do — including  not 
shaking  you  until  your  eyes  rattle!  You  will  now 
have  the  pleasure  of  your  own  society!" 

She  went  with  me  to  the  sitting-room  where  she 
gave  me  toys,  which  I  threw  from  me.  Then  she 
left  me,  and  I  heard  her  close  the  dining-room  door 
to  the  kitchen.  I  still  creep  when  I  want  to'  make 
good  time,  and  I  reached  that  door  as  fast  as  any 
snake  could  have  got  there.  Screeching,  I  scrambled 
to  my  feet,  and  beat  upon  the  wood.  I  choked  once 
— stopping  my  own  noise  just  long  enough  to  hear 
the  down-stairs  lady's  voice  on  the  back  porch,  say- 
ing sweetly  to  Mother,  "Excuse  me  for  coming  up  to 
make  an  early  call,  Mrs.  Carr,  but  I  could  not  help 
wondering  if  you  knew  how  hard  your  baby  is  crying?" 

In  polite,  but  fairly  chilly  tones,  Mother  replied, 
"My  dear  madam,  do  you  know  that  George  Wash- 
ington is  dead?" 

A  little  later,  when  I  had  run  down,  so  to  speak, 
being  unable  to  keep  up  the  standard  amount  of 
racket,  on  no  breakfast,  I  heard  a  sound  that  told  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  157 

story  to  me.  My  Mother  was  opening  and  slamming 
the  icebox  door.  I  heard  her  say  once  that  our  ice- 
box door  made  a  sound  exactly  like  that  of  a  brougham 
door  when  banged  to  by  a  groom;  and  that  the  slam 
of  a  carriage  door  always  did  her  soul  good — it 
suggested  the  lighter  and  more  gracious  side  of  Life! 

It  must  have  been  a  long  time  before  my  Mother 
trusted  herself  to  see  me,  for  when  at  last  she  came, 
she  found  me  asleep  on  the  dining-room  floor — right 
in  a  draught.  If  I  had  made  the  day's  work  too 
heavy  for  her  so  far,  I  now  saddened  it  more,  by 
letting  her  find  me,  a  sick  baby,  asleep  on  the  floor 
— in  a  draught. 

We  rocked  together  a  long  time  after  this,  peace- 
fully. When  we  stopped  a  moment,  I  looked  about 
for  my  stuffed  Easter  duck.  If  you  will  believe  me, 
my  Mother — with  all  the  things  that  had  claimed 
her  attention  this  very  trying  morning — had  found 
the  time  and  opportunity  to  hide  that  duck  again! 

My  Mother  interests  me  greatly. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FATHER,  Mother  and  I  have  enjoyed  a  visit, 
with  Aunty  Catherine  and  Uncle  Max  at 
the  Springs.  Aunty  is  delightful  in  her 
pride  in  me.  She  takes  me  out  just  when  the  car  is 
passing,  so  that  her  neighbors  may  see  who  is  visiting 
her. 

They  seem  to  take  Aunty  Catherine  rather  seriously 
at  the  Springs,  which  amuses  Mother  who  has  always 
had  an  older  sister  attitude  toward  her — which  act 
counts,  I  daresay,  for  Aunty  Catherine's  evident  re- 
lief that  out  of  the  confusion  of  Life,  Mother  got  me, 
upon  whom  to  vent  some  of  her  energy. 

It  is  very  wonderful  out-of-doors  here.  The  coun- 
try places  make  a  loosely  joined  village,  back  of 
which  are  the  glorious  Rocky  Mountains.  There 
are  so  many  autumn  leaves  on  the  lawn  that  by  the 

time  you  have  tried  to  kick  each  leaf,  your  cheeks  are 

158 


ui  out-of-dwi? 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  159 

wildly  red,  and  ladies  will  make  comments  on  the 
depths  of  your  brown  eyes.  By  the  way,  my  eyes 
have  at  last  settled  into  their  permanent  color,  and 
stopped  one  embarrassing  personal  controversy. 

But  what  I  like  best  about  the  Springs,  is  the  gravel 
walk  in  front  of  Aunty  Catherine's  house.  You 
can't  imagine  what  adorable  pebbles  grow  in  the 
driveway.  To-day  when  running  away  from  Mothec 
I  came  upon  a  bone  with  a  handsome  vacant  hole 
in  it.  I  filled  this  hole  four-thousand- nine-hundred- 
and-sixteen  times  with  gravel,  which  quickly  ran  out 
at  the  other  side. 

To-day  we  had  tea  with  neighbors  whose  library 
runs  two  stories  high  and  has  a  fire-place  big  enough 
to  have  for  a  play-house.  Rough  stones,  too  big  to 
fit  in  that  lovely  bone  I  found,  make  the  chimney, 
and  near  the  top  is  a  deer's  head.  My!  I  'most 
went  crazy  over  that  deer!  I  wish  I  had  half  a  chance 
at  those  glass  eyes! 

Out  into  the  room  and  around  the  fire-place  is  a 
funny  low  seat,  or  foot-rest,  and  on  it  I  put  a  plate 


160  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

of  cookies,  in  fine  order,  like  a  row  of  soldiers.  I 
took  a  bite  out  of  each  cake  in  turn,  sometimes  offer- 
ing the  ladies  tastes.  I  adored  the  ladies  this  after- 
noon. They  sat  holding  their  tea  cups  and  making 
flattering  remarks  upon  my  looks  and  conduct — watch- 
ing me  the  while,  as  though  I  had  within  me  strange 
and  great  things  to  teach  them. 

I  fancy  this  gathering,  with  the  possible  exception 
of  Mother  and  myself,  was  what  is  called  "society," 
and  we  met  one  exquisite  young  matron  who  said  I 
reminded  her  of  her  own  child,  whom  "she  always 
tried  to  see  for  an  hour  a  day,  anyway,  although  it 
was  sometimes  hard  to  manage  it." 

Mother  replied  that  she  always  tried  not  to  see 
her  child  for  an  hour  a  day,  although  it  was  invariably 
hard  to  manage  it! 

Our  hostess'  husband  was  my  favorite — next  to 
the  deer's  head.  He  was  so  interesting — but  of 
course,  he  would  be  interesting  because  he  is  a  physi- 
cian. Physicians  are  very  wise.  Observe  them, 
yourself!  The  Doctor,  instead  of  rudely  throwing 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  161 

£1 & 

me  into  the  air  above  his  head,  as  most  men  do  by 
way  of  introducing  themselves  to  a  baby,  ignored  me. 
It  is  always  effective  to  ignore  him  whom  you  would 
attract — a  little.  The  Doctor  sat  down  and  talked 
with  the  ladies — but  he  took  out  his  watch  and  idly 
dangled  it  on  the  end  of  the  chain — then  waited. 
He  knew  the  answer  before  he  took  out  the  watch. 
This  is  the  reason  that  I  walked  to  him  and  put  my 
hands  in  his. 

But  the  Teddy  Bears  and  Miss  Beatrice  Clara 
Cummins  are  waiting  for  me  in  Park  Hill,  so  we 
have  to  go  away  from  the  Springs.  I  have  had  a 
fine  visit,  but  I  shall  miss  the  lady  of  the  cookies,  the 
gravel  and  the  empty  bone,  as  well  as  Aunty  Catherine 
and  the  dead  leaves. 

My  parents  are  training  me  to  pick  up  bits  from  the 
floor — but  there  is  one  thing  they  do  not  know.  I 
get  the  bits  out  of  the  waste-basket,  myself,  and  put 
them  on  the  floor,  in  the  first  place. 
•  I  wear  socks  always,  never  having  had  a  long 
pair  of  stockings,  such  as  "Sonny"  and  most  little 


162  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

boys  wear.  Perhaps  we  cannot  afford  the  long  ones? 
The  down-stairs  lady  has  remarked  she  has  noticed 
that  I  am  wearing  heavy  shoes.  Of  course,  the  patter- 
patter  of  my  feet  above  her  head  does  not  disturb 
her,  you  understand,  but  she  wonders  if  my  Mother 
does  not  agree  with  her  that  softer  shoes  are  better 
for  such  little  feet.  If  you  lived  under  me,  you  might 
feel  the  same  way.  No  telling. 

I  fill  my  Father's  shoes  with  small  blocks,  which  he 
invariably  sees  after  having  put  his  weight  on  them. 
I  also  put  a  tiny  block  in  my  Grandmother's  bag  one 
day,  and  when  she  got  home  she  cried.  When  she 
had  cried,  she  telephoned  us.  Grandmothers  are  apt 
to  weep  over  the  acts  of  their  grandchildren,  when 
the  same  acts  got  a  spanking  for  their  own  children. 
When  you  weep  in  the  wrong  place,  it  is  a  pretty 
good  sign  you  have  the  making  of  a  real  grandmother 
in  you. 

I  cannot  turn  on  the  water  in  the  bath  tub  yet,  but 
it  is  not  because  I  have  not  tried.  * 

My  toes  now  touch  the  foot-board  of  my  high-chair, 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  163 

which  proves  that  I  am  of  eighteen  months'  age,  and 
glad.  I  can  see  out  of  windows  by  straining  a  little. 
I  used  to  think  I  should  never  grow  so  tall.  Oc- 
casionally I  get  some  real  food,  but  over  my  egg  I 
want  to  be  leisurely.  Why  hurry?  I  want  to  be 
flirted  with  and  coaxed  to  eat  it,  but  my  Mother  is 
such  a  business-like  person! 

"Dicklet,"  she  said  to  me  to-day,  intensely,  "if 
you  are  going  to  dawdle  over  your  meals,  I  know  I 
shall  go  mad!" 

But  I  think  I  shall  dawdle  just  the  same,  if  you 
don't  mind. 

As  long  as  it  is  supposed  to  be  such  excellent  dis- 
cipline for  the  up-grown  character  to  have  us  of 
helpless  age  thrust  upon  it,  I  think  we  ought  to  do 
the  best  we  can  to  make  the  fullest  use  of  our  oppor- 
tunity. I  should  hate  to  feel,  in  the  end,  that  there 
was  any  calculation  ever  made  by  my  Mother  that  I 
have  not  altered,  or  smashed  up  altogether.  Cer- 
tainly. So,  I  dawdle — while  purple-red  spots  form 
on  my  Mother's  cheek  bones,  and  trembling  with 


164  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

nervousness,  she  smiles — just  like  the  wax  ladies 
who  wear  ready-made  gowns  in  shop  windows. 

I  don't  understand  why  ladies  are  not  as  amused 
by  holding  a  spoon  before  a  pouting  red  mouth,  as 
they  used  to  be  by  sitting  at  a  piano  for  hours  over 
some  difficult  piece  of  fingering.  Surely,  our  Mothers 
love  us  more  than  they  loved  their  rented  pianos?  My 
Mother  has  dawdled  at  times  over  her  scales — she 
has  told  me  so  many  days — but  when  I  dawdle  over 
my  egg,  she  feels  like  a  prisoner.  Is  it  not  extraordinary? 
And  goodness  knows  what  might  have  happened  to- 
day, if  an  old  lady  had  not  come  in  to  call  and  tact- 
fully suggested  that  I  might  grpw  up  some-day.  This 
cheerful  possibility  had  never  occurred  to  either  of  us. 

I  must  explain  that  this  picking-up  business  they 
are  drilling  into  me,  works  both  ways.  Father  has 
to  go  away,  and  he  packed  his  trunk  while  Mother 
and  Aunty  Catherine  were  at  the  far  end  of  the 
apartment.  As  Father  packed,  I  unpacked,  and  got 
no  thanks.  It  was  a  low  steamer  trunk,  and  most 
convenient  for  one  of  my  height.  Daddy  made  many 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  165 

no-no  remarks  which  did  not  bother  me  at  all.  I 
took  everything  out  of  his  trunk,  every  time  he  went 
into  his  bedroom  to  get  more  clothes.  When  I  found 
that  this  promised  to  be  unpopular,  I  began  putting 
in  extra  things  for  him  on  top  of  his  white  waistcoats. 
I  got  in  three  Teddy  Bears,  Miss  B.  Clara  Cummins, 
a  ball,  an  ash-tray  of  out-blown  matches,  two  blocks 
and  a  jumping- jack,  and  I  was  just  stepping  in  my- 
self to  keep  him  from  being  lonely  when  he  opened 
his  trunk  at  the  other  end  of  his  journey,  when  Daddy 
came  back  and  found  me  too  much. 

He  mopped  his  brow  and  dashed  for  the  ladies, 
and  said  with  emphasis,  "For  the  Lord's  sake,  can't 
one  of  you  women  come  in  here  and  stand  between 
me  and  this  child,  long  enough  for  me  to  make  my 
train?" 

Aunty  Catherine  looked  at  me  to-day,  when  she 
had  settled  herself  for  a  little  visit  with  us;  she  looked 
at  me  critically. 

"Your  head  is  a  sight!"  she  said  under  her  breath. 
"A  perfect  sight!  I  don't  believe  you  have  had  your 


166  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m @ 

hair  clipped  in  all  your  life,  and  it  is  way  down  over 
your  ears  and  almost  into  your  eyes.  Come  with 
me,  child!" 

I  scented  trouble,  but  Aunty  Catherine  is  very  tall 
and  very  commanding,  and  often  is  taken  seriously. 
I  trotted  along  beside  her  to  my  high-chair,  and  she 
took  it  and  me  to  the  back  porch.  I  was  fascinated 
by  the  evident  momentousness  of  the  occasion.  I 
was  quiet.  The  next  I  knew,  I  was  sitting  in  the 
chair,  and  Aunty  Catherine's  firm  white  hands  were 
occupied — one  holding  my  two,  fat  little  hands,  and 
the  other,  flourishing  a  pair  of  scissors. 

Had  I  been  able  to  speak  English,  I  could  have 
informed  my  aunt  that  these  particular  scissors  were 
the  old  ones  that  Mother  used  to  cut  odd  bits  of  things, 
like  picture  wire.  They  were  dull  and  sawtoothed, 
rather,  and  were  good  for  hair-pulling,  but  awful 
for  hair-cutting. 

The  next  instant,  the  aunt  made  a  dash  for  me,  and 
I  ducked  and  screamed,  as  a  bunch  of  hair  fell  to  the 
floor.  Mother  flew  to  us. 


oo  "OJUCA. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  167 

"Catherine!"  she  demanded,  dramatically,  "what 
are  you  doing  to  my  child?" 

"Giving  him  a  much  needed  hair-cut!"  replied 
the  aunt,  with  vigor. 

"Well,  don't  put  his  eyes  out!"  snapped  Mother. 

"Possibly,  you'd  better  hold  him,  then,"  advised 
the  aunt. 

And  if  you  will  believe  me,  my  Mother  turned 
against  me  in  the  fight,  holding  me  with  all  her 
strength!  We  soon  collected  an  audience  in  the  alley 
and  on  all  the  back  porches  of  the  block,  while  my  aunt 
jabbed  at  me,  clearing  vacant  spots  on  my  head,  upon 
which  I  felt  the  chill  air  blowing.  But  when  they 
tried  to  "trim  my  bangs,"  I  heard  the  mad  hurry  of 
a  man  coming  to  us,  three  steps  at  a  time.  I  trusted 
it  was  the  police,  but  it  was  only  the  janitor,  whom 
I  had  supposed  to  be  my  friend.  I  once  heard  him 
telling  Mother  that  he  used  to  valet  a  man  who  went 
in  for  wild  boar  sticking,  and  in  this  crisis  I  quickly 
saw  that  he  had  contracted  some  of  his  former  em- 
ployer's love  of  the  fight.  Anyway,  his  blood  was  up. 


168  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

gi m 

"Here,  Mrs.  Carr,"  he  panted.  "Give  me  them 
scissors!" 

The  two  women  relinquished  their  weapon,  and 
fell  on  me — one  putting  her  weight  on  my  chest, 
and  the  other  holding  my  frantic  hands.  Moses! 
How  I  shrieked!  The  boar-sticking  janitor  got  to 
work  at  the  back  of  my  head,  and  tore  out  a  sort  of 
high-water  line  up  where  one's  bump  of  veneration 
is  conceded  to  be,  but  sometimes  isn't.  They  were  all 
excited  and  red  in  the  face,  although  Mother  called 
to  the  neighbors  not  to  worry — nothing  dreadful 
was  happening — just  a  little  trimming  up  of  my  hair. 

With  one  vicious  dive  at  me,  which  resulted  in 
exposing  a  patch  of  scalp  over  my  "soft-spot,"  the 
three  demons  fell  back,  and  set  me  free. 

"Richard,"  said  Mother  bending  over  me,  tender- 
ly, "I  call  it  a  miserable  imposition!  Can  you  for- 
give me,  and  give  me  a  little  kiss?" 

I  did  not  want  to,  exactly,  but  still  I  put  my  arms 
around  her  neck,  for  after  all,  I  am  the  little  soul  of 
Mother.  She  had  tears  in  her  eyes — tears  that  came 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  169 

after  she  had  done  what  she  wanted  to — like  so  many 
of  Life's  tears.  "Catherine!"  she  half  sobbed,  "look 
at  this  beautiful  child!  He  looks  positively  moth- 
eaten!" 

Moth-eaten — indeed!  That  is  much  too  polite 
a  term.  If  you  ask  me,  I  can  tell  you  I  look  Indian- 
raided! 

"Well,"  weakly  the  aunt  defended  herself,  "it 
was  the  best  I  could  do — and  save  his  eyes." 

I  feel  blue  enough  at  the  rough  treatment  I  have 
received  from  my  best  friends,  but  still,  I  have  solved 
a  mystery.  I  know,  now,  why  the  Springs  takes 
Aunty  Catherine  seriously;  and  when  I  am  bigger, 
I  will  explain  it  to  Mother,  as  the  matter  seems  to 
be  one  of  such  interest  to  her.  Aunty  Catherine 
probably  cuts  their  hair  for  'em  in  the  Springs — and 
Moses!  I  should  think  they  would  take  her  seriously. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

I  THINK  yesterday  must  have  been  what  the 
up-growns  call  Christmas,  for  Father  came  home, 
and  everyone  met  at  my  grandparents'  where  there 
was  a  huge  pile  of  articles  in  the  middle  of  the  draw- 
ing room  floor,  covered  over  with  a  sheet.  The 
game  seemed  to  be  for  all  to  sit  on  the  floor,  regard- 
less of  stiffness  in  getting  down,  and  one  at  a  time, 
each  person  drew  out  a  package  done  up  with  bright 
ribbons,  and  opening  it  before  all  eyes,  he  gasped 
(regardless  of  getting  the  wrong  thing),  "How  nice! 
Just  what  I  have  been  wanting  for  months!" 

I  sat  on  the  top  of  the  pile  most  of  the  time,  enjoying 
the  sensation  of  feeling  the  presents  settle  under  me. 
Strange — nobody  snatched  me  off.  Being  the  only 
grandchild  among  many  up-growns,  has  its  ad- 
vantages. Several  bundles  were  for  me — contain- 
ing things  to  which  I  prefer  our  talcum  powder  can. 

I   behaved   well   all   day.     I   was   worried.     My 
170 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  171 

thoughts  were  upon  the  alive  duck  in  our  next  door 
neighbor's  back  yard.  I  had  heard  Mother  suggest  that 
they  must  be  fattening  it  for  Christmas.  I  was  anxious 
to  get  home  to  see  if  the  duck's  incessant  quacking 
had  ceased. 

It  had.  Never  another  sound  from  him — poor 
little  duck!  And  my  stuffed  Easter  duck  is  put  away, 
and  not  speaking  English,  I  have  not  yet  hit  upon  a 
successful  way  of  asking  for  him.  One  really  ought 
not  to  allow  himself  to  grow  attached  to  ducks — their 
destiny  is  so  certain. 

The  most  thrilling  time  we  have  had  lately,  how- 
ever, was  the  night  before  Father  arrived.  The  little 
boy  belonging  to  the  down-stairs  lady,  came  in  with 
his  parents  after  the  theatre;  and  between  'em,  they 
slammed  every  door  in  their  apartment,  and  finally 
congregated  in  the  bed  room  just  under  us,  and  right 
up  through  the  court,  we  heard  the  boy  say,  "Let's 
poke  Sport  in  the  ribs  and  make  him  bark!"  Then 
followed  a  romp  which  was  noisy  enough  to  wake 
the  dead  duck. 


172  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Egg 653 

ESS  ^^0$ 

The  down-stairs  family  had  made  such  a  point 
of  complaining  at  every  sound  from  me,  that  Mother 
thought  they  had  little  to  do  to  start  me  up,  them- 
selves, in  the  middle  of  the  night.  She  stood  the 
disturbance  as  long  as  she  could,  and  then,  so  annoyed 
she  hardly  knew  what  she  was  doing,  she  put  her  head 
out  of  our  window.  Through  my  crying,  the  boy's 
romping  and  the  dog's  yelping,  she  made  herself 
heard — and  distinctly.  I  doubt  if  this  section  of  the 
country  ever  listened  to  more  telling  eloquence,  poetic 
justice  and  neighborly  exchange  of  ideas  than  were 
combined  in  the  few  remarks  that  Mother  made  to 
whom  it  might  concern. 

A  stillness  followed  that  would  have  flattered  any 
great  orator.  The  dog  stopped  breathing.  Nothing 
stirred — not  even  the  spirit  of  the  departed  duck. 
A  head  was  thrust  out  of  every  window  near  us — 
boarders'  heads,  mostly.  Everything  was  night  and 
intensity.  The  climax  lasted  longer  than  some 
climaxes,  and  was  interrupted  only  by  the  down- 
stairs boy's  tip-toeing  with  his  puppy  out  into  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  173 

kitchen.     Even  the   whitewash   on  the  court   walls 
was  impressed. 

Then,  of  course,  we  had  days  of  remorse  and 
things.  You  might  know  we  would  never  spare 
ourselves  the  unusual  amount  of  suffering  this  oppor- 
tunity afforded.  We  were  self-conscious,  and  avoided 
meeting  the  down-stairs  family.  A  fleeting  glimpse 
of  the  doglet's  tail  getting  around  the  edge  of  the 
building,  was  quite  enough  to  embarrass  us.  This 
stump-speech  of  Mother's  suggested  Miss  Clara 
Cummins  and  the  dyed  black  dress  material,  and 
the  similarity  of  method  fussed  Mother  more  than  the 
whole  down-stairs  family  was  worth.  She  deeply 
regretted  not  having  taken  more  conventional,  and 
less  effective,  measures.  But  I  understood  it  all. 
You  see,  ladies  sometimes  let  things  go  until  they  are  up- 
set beyond  their  self-control,  hoping  all  the  time  that 
the  difficulties  will  eventually  adjust  themselves. 
The  down-stairs  lady  was  wiser  than  Mother,  I  fear 
—she  rendered  her  complaints  on  the  installment 
plan,  and  kept  her  system  clear.  Her  scheme 


174  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

gsa gsa 

Bs —  — ES3 

was  fine  from  her  standpoint,  but  it  was  a  terror 
for  us! 

But  the  strained  relations  eased  up  a  bit  when  the 
down-stairs  family  "went  on  the  road  for  a  while 
with  poppa."  I  took  this  occasion  to  sleep  well  at 
night,  and  I  refused  to  wear  any  shoes  save  my  little 
felt  bed  room  slippers  in  the  house.  I  didn't  knock 
over  a  chair  and  shake  the  house,  once,  the  whole 
time  they  were  out  of  town. 

But  they  came  back.  Most  things  one  is  not  in 
love  with,  do — if  you  just  give  them  time.  So,  think- 
ing our  neighbors  might  miss  their  old  grievances  if 
I  stayed  good,  I  un-eased  myself,  and  dropped  all 
the  books  I  could,  and  cried  often  and  loudly.  I 
never  disappoint  people  who  are  nerved  for  trouble, 
if  I  can  help  it. 

An  anti-climax  developed  at  this  point.  The 
down-stairs  family  stormed  down  town  and  told  the 
agent  that  they  could  not  stand  the  loss  of  sleep,  and 
they  thought  if  they  were  expected  to  endure  the 
up-stairs  baby,  their  rent  ought  to  be  reduced.  But 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  175 

GEi _csa 

BS  ~~ ~0S 

the  agent  settled  the  matter  promptly  by  saying  that 
he  would  be  glad  to  cancel  their  lease  anytime  on 
one  week's  notice.  Whereupon  the  down-stairs 
family  had  an  attack  of  human  nature — when  they 
found  it  was  easy  to  go,  they  wanted  to  stay.  The 
agent,  you  see,  is  a  relative  of  mine,  and  is  solid  for 
me.  Ha! 

Feeling  the  tightness  of  the  present  relations,  Mother 
thought  she  would  make  the  advances  toward  an 
armed  neutrality,  as  she  had  caused  the  open  break. 
So  she  took  a  dainty  bowl  of  wine  jelly  and  went 
down  stairs,  saying  to  the  lady  when  she  came  to 
the  door,  that  as  they  had  not  yet  had  time  to  re-stock 
their  larder  after  their  trip,  perhaps  this  bit  would 
help  out  with  luncheon.  But  the  down-stairs  lady 
pretended  that  she  had  never  met  Mother,  and  did 
not  understand.  No  doubt  it  was  a  trying  moment. 
Anyway — we  never  have  wine  jelly  anymore,  I  have 
noticed! 

And  the  strangest  part  of  all  is  that  the  dog  be- 
longing to  the  down-stairs  boy  disappeared  the  next 


176  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

M H 

night.  I  don't  know  what  foundation  they  had  for 
their  suspicions  and  aspersions,  but  at  once  the  down- 
stairs gentleman  stopped  speaking  to  my  Father  on 
the  street.  Things  are  generally  serious  when  the 
men  take  part  in  apartment-house  feuds.  Person- 
ally, I  don't  believe  we  had  a  thing  on  earth  to 
do  with  the  tragedy.  We  are  not  the  only  people 
with  whom  that  dog  was  unpopular.  This  passing 
was  just  one  of  those  things  resulting  from  some  un- 
known natural  cause,  which  is  classed  by  the  up-growns 
as  a  coincidence.  Possibly  the  puppy  got  into  the 
alley  barrel  and  ate  some  of  that  wine  jelly,  and  it 
was  too  much  for  him,  being  unused  to  unpasteurized 
stimulants.  I  can't  say.  But  the  janitor  always 
looked  amused  every  time  anybody  in  the  building 
inquired  for  "Sport."  The  janitor  had  the  sense  of 
humor — except  when  cutting  the  hair  of  persons  who 
much  prefer  he'd  mind  his  own  business.  He  had, 
however,  been  obliged  to  listen  to  so  much  assorted 
conversation  on  the  subject  of  this  particular  boy  and 
this  particular  dog,  that  he  gave  it  out  coldly,  he 


f  ut  touir-ar 
nder 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  177 

thought  he  could  stand  the  loss  without  going  into 
mourning. 

I  hope  all  this  does  not  give  the  impression  that 
we  live  in  a  tenement?  Oh  dear  me,  no!  We  pay 
very  high  rent  for  our  troubles.  But  we  can't  stand 
it  any  more,  and  we  are  moving  soon.  We  are  con- 
vinced that  apartment  houses  are  no  places  for  boys, 
babies,  dogs,  pianolas,  parties,  alarm  clocks,  nerves, 
ducks,  squeaking  rocking  chairs  or  machine-sung 
comic  songs.  Apartments  should  be  occupied  only 
by  felt-soled  shoes,  gossip  and  thick  skins.  We  will 
run  a  furnace  ourselves,  deal  directly  with  burglars, 
and  walk  six  blocks  in  mud  ankle-deep  to  the  near- 
est car,  if  we  have  to,  but  no  more  apartment-houses 
for  us — I  should  say  not! 

Every  day  I  sit  on  my  Father's  knee  in  the  late  after- 
noon, and  find  in  his  pockets  many  things.  The  cigars 
that  are  there,  one  must  not  crush.  This  would  be  a 
no-no.  To  muss  up  the  cigarettes  would  also  be  a 
no-no,  but  it  is  all  right  to  threaten  to  do  so,  and  if 
one  has  a  true  Father,  such  as  I  have,  he  will  stand 


178  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

for  'most  a  hundred  threats,  patiently.  In  an  upper 
waistcoat  pocket  is  a  miniature  of  a  placid  face  and 
an  unplacid  soul — my  Mother.  This  I  kiss  each 
time  I  find  it,  quite  as  though  I  had  discovered  it  for 
the  first  time.  It  is  etiquette  to  put  the  locket  back 
in  Daddy's  pocket  after  kissing.  It  would  never 
do  to  make-believe  to  throw  this  on  the  floor — this 
would  be  a  dreadful  no-no. 

After  the  cigar-cutter  has  been  snapped  forty-seven 
times,  we  think  of  books,  Daddy  and  I.  I  am  not 
allowed  to  touch  the  up-grown  books;  but  on  my  way 
to  get  my  own  books,  I  pretend  to  take  a  large  volume. 
This  I  shall  do  seriously,  just  as  long  as  I  can  provoke 
my  Father  into  saying,  "Not  those  books,  Son!"  I 
am  fond  of  this  sentence — it  is  part  of  our  daily  play. 
I  am  devoted  to  the  sameness  of  things,  day  in  and 
day  out.  Isn't  your  little  boy? 

There  is  something  they  have  not  yet  discovered. 
I  found  a  fine  blue  pencil  on  Sunday  morning  when 
I  got  up  early,  and  they  did  not  know  I  was  out  of 
my  crib,  I  went  into  the  sitting  room  and  took  out 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  179 

of  the  case  one  up-grown  book  at  a  time,  and  wrote 
in  it  many  things  with  this  lovely  blue  pencil.  When 
I  thought  each  volume  sufficiently  decorated,  I  put 
it  back  in  the  orderly  fashion  they  are  teaching  me. 
But  I  was  disappointed  in  getting  only  eight  books 
marked  up,  when  I  heard  Mother  coming. 

They  may  find  me  out,  in  time,  for  one  of  the  vic- 
tims was  a  borrowed  book.  But  our  own  books  may 
know  their  own  decorations  in  silence  always,  for  I 
marked  up  only  the  good  ones  that  nobody  ever  reads, 
such  as  Taine's  History  of  English  Literature,  which 
I  have  heard  Mother  say  she  hoped  to  get  around  to, 
someday.  I  trust  when  that  day  comes,  I  shall  be 
big  enough  to  run! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WE  are  moved.  I  am  glad.  We  live  in  a 
little  house  on  the  edge  of  town,  where 
we  can  see  two  hundred  miles  of  great 
high  mountains,  and  where  the  wind  blows  so  that  it 
is  hard  to  stand  up.  We  have  not  blown  over  yet. 
It  is  lovely  to  have  a  house  that  is  quite  one's  own. 
Why,  the  very  knowledge  that  I  can  cry  at  night 
all  I  want  to,  and  not  disturb  a  soul,  has  taken  out  of 
me  the  desire  to  cry  at  all.  I  am  cheerful  every  minute. 
In  the  back  yard  Daddy  has  made  me  a  sand-pile, 
in  which  I  bury  all  little  things,  like  nutmeg  graters 
and  thimbles.  I  keep  much  busier  than  I  did  in  town, 
although  I  was  said  to  be  rather  active  there.  Last 
evening  I  put  my  tin  steam  yacht  in  the  nice  cool  oven, 
and  I  know  Mother  got  a  shock  and  thought  the 
Spanish  fleet  was  upon  us,  when  she  went  to  make 

the  toast  this  morning.     And  the  exhaust  pipe  of 

180 


fjag  mabe  me  a  ganb=pile,  in  tofjicf)  3f  burp 
all   little   things,   like  nutmeg    graters    anb 

till  111  blfS.  page    ISO 


181 


the  bath  tub  is  already  stopped  up.  The  up-growns 
don't  know  why,  but  I  do.  The  key  to  my  yacht 
is  carefully  poked  down  there.  I  would  explain  if 
I  could,  but  I  can't.  I  talk  a  great  deal  in  my  own 
way,  which  does  not  seem  clear  to  the  up-growns. 
I  don't  see  why  they,  who  are  so  much  better  informed 
than  I,  cannot  understand  me,  when  I  have  no  trouble 
at  all  understanding  them. 

The  old  lady  who  once  suggested  to  Mother  that 
I  might  one  day  grow  up,  gave  me  a  horse  that  is  not 
constructed  at  all  like  the  vegetable  man's  horse. 
My  horse  has  a  head  stuck  on  a  long,  thin  body 
which  is  a  sort  of  little  sister  to  a  broom-stick,  and 
the  horse's  hind  feet  are  two  wheels,  one  of  which 
I  got  off  after  some  difficulty,  and  the  other  I  hope  to 
dislodge  soon.  I  ride  this  horse  by  the  hour,  and  he 
never  gets  any  more  tired  than  I  do,  myself.  I  have 
a  pair  of  overhauls  and  a  big  hat,  and  on  the  whole 
present  a  formidable  appearance.  I  am  Mother's 
cow  puncher,  so  she  says. 

They  have  a  dog  three  doors  from  us,  which  is 


182  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

supposed  to  be  ugly  with  children,  but  he  is  very 
cordial  with  me,  which  is  accounted  for,  no  doubt, 
by  the  fact  that  I  am  a  cowboy  on  a  broncho — not 
"children."  This  dog  and  I  eat  together,  but  no- 
body knows  it.  His  plate  is  an  old,  unwashed  pie 
dish,  out  by  the  rain  pipe  from  the  roof.  He  gets 
odd  bits  of  hash,  and  the  old  soup  meat  and  the  cake 
that  turned  to  lead  instead  of  angel  food.  These  we 
enjoy  together.  And  these  informal  meetings  with 
"Teddy,"  remind  me  of  Miss  Clara  Cummins,  in  a 
way. 

I  am  a  most  trustworthy  person.  They  let  me  out 
to  roam  the  neighborhood,  and  Mother  refuses  to 
have  her  temperature  kept  high  because  of  the  things 
that  might  happen  to  me.  She  lets  me  out  for  the 
principal  reason  that  she  can't  keep  me  in.  I  can 
undo  the  hooks  on  both  gates.  Mother  says  if  she 
gave  in  to  all  her  apprehensions,  she  would  be  in  the 
insane  asylum,  and  believe  me,  if  she  were  not,  I 
should  be!  Mother  once  heard  of  a  young  man 
who  turned  to  his  over-solicitous  Mother  and  said, 


let  me  out  to  roam  tfje  netg;f)tiori)oob    page  182 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  183 

"Will  you  let  me  breathe  for  myself,  Mother?  You 
smother  me  with  your  care!"  I  know  if  I  ever  re- 
proached my  Mother  like  that,  it  would  cut  her  to 
the  soul.  She  believes  that  even  babies  have  a  right 
to  be  treated  like  responsible  human  beings,  and 
while  she  seems  ever  ready  to  stand  between  me  and 
distress,  still  she  says  I  must  have  my  own  experiences, 
and  might  as  well  begin  one  time  as  another.  This 
theory,  however,  does  not  keep  her  from  flying  to 
the  door  every  few  minutes  to  see  what  I  am  <loing. 
I  have  learned  to  open  doors,  and  while  I  appreciate 
the  fact  that  I  am  not  supposed  to  be  on  the  back 
porch,  owing  to  my  love  of  inspecting  the  ice  box, 
still  to-day  I  got  in  there.  It  was  fine.  I  first  fell 
upon  a  huge  bowl  of  eggs,  which  I  threw,  one  at  a 
time,  onto  the  floor,  making  a  nice  skating  sort  of 
foundation  for  a  crock  of  soup  stock,  which  I  had 
some  trouble  in  upsetting.  Then  there  were  some 
little  dishes  of  vegetables  and  other  things  which 
added  greatly  to  the  interesting  swimming  pool.  I 
sat  down  and  slid  around,  joyfully.  Then  I  rubbed 


184  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

i§ iH 

the  egginess  into  my  hair,  and  I  was  just  about  to  try 
to  take  a  horse-back  ride  on  a  leg  of  lamb  that  went 
splendidly  through  the  slippery  waves,  when  Mother 
appeared. 

Mother  said  something  emphatic,  then  dragged  me 
from  the  fun,  and  noted  that  I  had  painted  the  walls 
of  the  porch  as  high  up  as  I  could  with  a  new  pound 
of  butter.  Then  I  got  spanked.  Thank  you.  I 
think  the  spanking  was  almost  as  good  as  an  example 
of  Mother's  kind  of  activity,  as  the  back  porch  was 
of  mine.  I  fancy  Mother  would  have  cried,  but 
Mother  is  rather  un-crying.  She  is  willing  enough, 
but  the  sobs  seldom  get  past  the  buckle  at  her  throat. 
I  do  somewhat  better,  myself.  The  stair-case,  the 
kitchen  floor  and  the  bath  tub  were  all  eggy.  So 
sorry.  The  ice  box  is  a  very  bad  no-no,  indeed. 

We  had  just  finished  our  egg  shampoo  on  me  and 
the  house  and  Mother,  and  were  soberly  glaring  at 
each  other  in  the  sitting-room,  clean  and  discouraged, 
when  a  silk-lined  lady  with  flowers  in  her  hand  and 
malice  in  her  heart,  came  to  call.  She  was  one  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  185 

Cousin  Martha's  suit-case  sympathizers  when  Cousin 
Martha  was  thrown  into  black.  She  always  called 
twice  a  day  on  Cousin  Martha  at  that  time,  with  a 
suit-case  in  each  hand,  to  feed  her  aromatic  spirits 
of  ammonia  to  dull  her  over-wrought  nerves,  and  to 
explain  to  her  that  by  the  time  she  was  out  of  mourn- 
ing, her  tan  shoes  would  be  an  old  fashioned  cut — 
and  wasn't  it  fortunate  they  wore  the  same  size?  She 
said  she  would  like  to  borrow  her  opera  wrap,  and 
gracefully  suggested  that  by  taking  in  her  tailored 
jackets,  she  could  use  them,  and  would  just  love  to 
take  the  hateful  things  away  where  poor  little  Martha 
would  not  be  constantly  annoyed  by  the  sight  of 
them,  full  as  they  must  be  of  painful  associations! 

I  fancy  the  silk-lined  lady  was  a  most  "smart" 
person,  because  she  did  not  speak  of  automobiles, 
but  of  motors.  Mother  says  this  is  the  supreme  test 
of  the  "society"  woman,  especially  when  the  motor 
referred  to  is  not  the  property  of  the  speaker.  Then, 
too,  I  am  sure  she  must  have  been  a  "society"  woman, 
because  she  cut  away  at  once  from  all  the  amenities 


186  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

H li 

supposed  to  be  the  pass-word  of  Society,  the  very 
foundation  of  the  profession,  as  it  were;  and  she 
promptly  jumped  into  the  private  affairs  of  her  hostess 
without  the  slightest  hesitation.  This  sort  of  thing 
Mother  would  not  resent  so  positively  in  an  unlettered 
woman,  as  she  always  does  when  she  meets  the 
characteristic  in  someone  who  openly  stands  for  the 
polite  life. 

"How  is  Martha,  these  days?"  casually  inquired 
the  silk-lined  lady,  after  having  automatically  remarked 
that  I  was  "a  perfect  beauty,"  and  mentally  noted 
everything  in  the  room  with  the  hope  of  finding  it  in 
poor  taste. 

"Martha  is  well,  thank  you,"  replied  Mother, 
keyed  for  some  sort  of  a  blow. 

"I  can't  get  over  the  shock  Martha  gave  me," 
fretfully  continued  the  dame. 

"No?"  Mother  ventured. 

"No!  I  might  have  stood  her  marrying  again  so 
soon,  if  only — if  only  she  had  not  married  a  grocer." 

"I  am  afraid  your  prolonged  associations  with  dry 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  187 

goods  have  made  you  super-sensitive,"  Mother  sug- 
gested, sweetly. 

The  silk-lined  lady's  husband  was  the  chief  of 
one  of  the  dry  goods  houses  in  town. 

"Well,  well,  you  see — "  the  silk-lined  lady  hurried 
on  uneasily,  "we — that  is,  John  has  very  little  to  do 
with  trade,  himself,  you  understand!  He  is  the 
manager  of  a  large  business." 

"Mr.  Ludlow  is  the  manager  of  a  large  business, 
also." 

"Really?"  said  the  silk-lined  lady.  "I  am  so 
glad.  One  hears  such  misleading  things,  you 
know.  I  was  told  he  put  up  orders,  himself. 
But  even  so,  it  is  rather  dreadful  to  be  a  grocer, 
isn't  it?" 

"Well,"  argued  Mother,  in  the  very  friendliest 
of  tones,  "what  is  the  difference,  when  one  comes 
down  to  facts,  between  your  husband  and  my  cousin- 
by-marriage,  except  that  one  of  them  has  rows  of 
ready-made  coats  and  trousers  stacked  upon  tables, 
and  sells  bone-casing  and  darning  cotton;  and  the  other 


188  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

fSJ .gra 

tzS  gg 

merchant  handles  breakfast  foods  and  dried 
apples?" 

"Oh!  Such  a  vast  difference!"  exclaimed  the  silk- 
lined  lady,  in  horror.  "A  grocer  is  a  grocer,  and  one 
can't  get  away  from  it,  while  John  is  simply  in  busi- 
ness sitting  at  a  desk,  like  any  other  well-ordered 
man." 

"A  marvelous  distinction!"  agreed  Mother,  with 
real  merriment  in  her  eyes.  "But  might  not  a  grocer 
sit  at  a  desk?  That  is,  when  not  sitting  at  the  dinner 
table,  in  an  automobile  or  in  an  opera  box?" 

"Does — does  Mr. — ?  I  never  can  recall  that  per- 
son's name,  someway!  Does  he  sit  at  a  desk?" 

"Y-yes,"  drawled  Mother,  patiently.  "Where  did 
you  suppose  he  sat — in  a  cage?" 

"Now  you're  laughing  at  me!"  petulantly  pro- 
tested the  silk-lined  lady.  "And  this  is  a  most 
serious  matter!  You  know  as  well  as  I  that  Society 
draws  certain  well-defined  lines  for  the  occupations 
of  men  and  the  conduct  of  women,  and  the  man 
who  allows  himself  to  get  so  far  down  as  to — " 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  189 

"As  to  earn  twenty-five  or  thirty  thousand  dollars 
a  year,"  Mother  finished. 

"No — no.  Not  at  all.  So  far  down  as  to  be 
stamped  by  such  a  commercial  and  irrevocable  a 
curse  as  bulk  olives,  cannot  possibly — " 

"I  cannot,  for  the  life  of  me,  see  how  so  spiritual 
a  soul  as  yourself,  could  ever  have  stood  so  many 
years'  contamination  with  Monday  bargain  sales!" 
Mother  cut  her  off. 

"Let  me  explain,  my  dear,"  the  silk-lined  lady 
insisted,  "that  I  regret  my  husband's  work;  but  at 
least,  pray  do  understand  that  we  would  never  be  in 
such  a  business  in  New  York!" 

"Why  not  in  New  York?"  Mother  asked,  with 
interest.  "I  should  think  it  would  be  better  to  be  in 
the  dry  goods  business  in  New  York,  than  here — 
in  New  York  no  one  would  know  you." 

Ladies  are  most  interesting.  They  say  such  awful 
things  in  such  pleasant  voices.  They  hurt  each  other 
so  deeply,  generally  over  some  one's  else  affairs,  and 
show  their  wounds  so  little. 


190  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

The  silk-lined  lady  kissed  Mother's  cheek,  and 
Mother  (who  never  cared  particularly  for  kissing 
ladies)  kissed  her  back.  The  silk-lined  lady  kissed 
me,  and  said,  in  parting,  that  I  was  a  wonderful 
child,  so  unusually  intelligent  and  charming.  Many 
thanks.  She  paid  no  attention  at  all  to  me.  Were 
she  and  I  to  meet  to-morrow,  she  would  not  know  me, 
I  am  sure.  And  I  should  not  know  her — not  unless 
she  had  a  suit-case  with  her. 

I  do  not  care  for  the  silk-lined  lady.  I  prefer  Miss 
Clara  Cummins.  If  one  must  fight,  give  me  the  clean, 
fair,  brutal  combat,  such  as  Miss  Cummins  dealt 
the  janitor  when  he  stuck  his  hand  in  my  face  once 
as  I  lay  sleeping  in  my  carriage  on  the  New  York 
roof,  and  woke  me.  Miss  Cummins  was  not  a  lady 
— the  Third  Avenue  Elevated  was  her  "motor" — 
but  I  like  her  brand  of  fight  better  than  some  I  could 
mention,  if  it  were  polite  to  do  so,  which  it  isn't.  So 
sorry.  When  Miss  Cummins  came  after  you,  she 
did  not  fall  upon  you  with  flowers  in  her  hand.  She 
was  perfectly  square.  She  advanced  with  a  rolling- 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  191 

pin,  or  a  section  of  unmistakable  conversation,  and 
you  knew  from  the  first  just  where  you  stood  with  her. 
She  was  not  a  lady  (and  I  was  disappointed  in  her 
crying  just  plain  white  tears,  when  I  had  hoped  they 
would  be  brown),  but  there  was  something  in  her 
that  I  love. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  STRANGE  thing  have  I  discovered.    When 
one  stands  in  the  sunlight,  a  funny,  blackish 
thing  appears  beyond  one  on  the  floor  or 
wall.     When  you  stoop  to  pick  it  up,  it  stoops  too! 
It  does  not  cry  out  when  you  put  your  Mother's  scissors 
into  it,  or  try  to  do  so.    It  does  everything  you  do,  and 
it  stays  with  you  as  long  as  you  stand  in  the  sun.     Very 
odd. 

I  am  of  twenty-three  months'  age,  and  English 
speaking,  in  moderation.  I  kiss  my  Mother's  hand 
before  and  after  getting  bites  of  sugar.  A  visiting 
lady — an  un-silk-lined  one,  this  time — said  to  Mother 
that  she  was  teaching  me  to  break  many  hearts  in 
later  life;  and  Mother  replied  that  probably  I  would 
be  up  to  this  time-honored  man-pastime,  anyway, 
so  I  might  as  well  learn  to  do  it  gracefully — which 
would,  in  a  measure,  compensate  the  ladies  for  their 

wee  twinges  of  loneliness! 

192 


a 


^•  i  *•  - 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  193 

When  there  are  tea-absorbing  persons  present,  I 
go  through  my  parlor  tricks  as  though  I  were  giving 
an  initial  performance,  but  truly,  there  have  been 
dress  rehearsals.  Mother  teaches  me  things,  and 
my  "charm"  as  the  ladies  call  it,  is  not  entirely  of 
the  variety  generally  classed  as  "native." 

Yesterday  that  other  very  tired  Mother  was  here — 
she  who  owns  him  named  Sonny — and  before  her 
my  Mother  said,  upon  giving  me  a  cooky,  "Say 
'Thank  you,  sweet  Mother!'" 

"Sank  you,  sweet  Mummah!"  I  repeated  in 
creditable  English. 

Then  she  who  belongs  to  Sonny  dryly  remarked, 
"Well,  dear,  if  your  child  does  not  appreciate  you, 
it  is  not  going  to  be  pour  fault,  is  it?" 

In  answer  my  Mother  laughingly  asked,  "What 
is  the  point  of  having  a  son,  if  you  cannot  delude 
him  into  idealizing  his  Mother — at  least,  up  to  that 
dreaded  time  when  his  sense-of-humor  begins  to 
develop?" 

Ladies  have  much  to  talk  over,  mostly  things  which 


194  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

@ m 

their  opinions  cannot  alter — "problems." — I  think 
these  things  are  called.  Mother  says  that,  in  the 
beginning,  one  child  is  as  favorable  material  for 
training  as  another;  in  other  words,  that  she  could 
do  as  much  with  any  little  boy  as  she  can  with  me. 
That  other  Mother  does  not  agree  with  her — this 
is  one  reason  why  the  two  ladies  have  enjoyed  each 
other  for  so  many  years.  Sonny's  Mother  insists 
that  my  good  appearance  is  due  to  my  nature,  which 
no  amount  of  discipline  could  make  or  mar.  (Three 
cheers  for  Sonny's  Mother!)  But,  to  tell  the  truth, 
I  do  not  believe  that  ladies  think.  They  feel  a  lot; 
and  when  they  meet,  sometimes  their  feelings  rush 
into  large  quantities  of  impressive  words;  and  then, 
they  think  they  have  thought  things.  This  is  a  theory, 
only.  If  it  is  wrong,  please  excuse  me. 

I  like  to  be  discussed  in  my  own  presence — it  gives 
me  a  warm  sense  of  importance,  which  I  try  not  to 
betray  in  self-conscious  glances,  or  by  sweeping  my 
eye-lashes  across  my  cheeks.  The  up-growns  are 
constantly  resolving  to  stop  this  practice  of  analyzing 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  195 

me  before  myself,  assuring  themselves  that  beyond 
doubt,  persons  of  helpless  age  take  in  a  great  deal. 

Mother  thinks — pardon  me! — Mother  feels  she 
would  quite  as  soon  have  an  orphan  as  a  child  of 
her  own.  She  got  this  off  to  her  Special  Physician 
once  in  New  York,  just  as  though  she  meant  it.  And 
the  Doctor  said,  thoughtfully  (we  did  not  pay  much 
attention  to  what  he  said,  but  we  always  liked  to 
watch  his  expression) — "Well,  I  believe  in  inheri- 
tance, myself,  but  then — /  am  a  Virginian." 

Really,  it  is  most  perplexing  to  decide  whether 
or  not  one  should  take  ladies  seriously.  They  say 
that  men-beings  have  been  undecided  in  regard  to 
this  matter,  before.  However,  if  they  go  to  import- 
ing any  orphans,  I  shall  snatch  their  bottles  away, 
and  bump  them  over  in  a  heap  on  the  floor.  It  is 
bad  enough  to  have  Sonny  out  here,  grabbing  my 
cracker  and  moving  the  dining  room  chairs,  when  I 
am  trained  so  that  I  am  happier  when  they  stand  in 
place.  We  don't  need  any  orphans — I  can  keep 
the  house  sufficiently  mussed  up,  myself.  And  any- 


1%  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

HE KE3 

SS*~ ~"  — 8s3 

way,  Father  says  he  already  has  two  children — a 
boy  and  a  girl.  He  means  Mother  by  the  girl.  Ha! 
Father  has  a  pretty  good  idea  of  what  to  take  seriously. 
My  Mother  and  that  other  Mother  make  many 
plans  for  the  future  friendship  of  Sonny  and  myself. 
They  have  everything  all  mapped  out  for  us — how 
we  shall  enter  the  kindergarten  together,  the  grammar 
school,  the  preparatory  school,  and  go  to  college 
together  and  stand  by  each  other  through  Life.  May- 
be! But  I  don't  think  much  of  our  start.  We  hate 
each  other  cordially,  being  delighted  that  we  do. 
Each  wrenches  things  away  from  the  other,  wanting 
everything  in  sight.  Each  bites  the  other — that  is 
why  we  both  howl.  The  only  thing  we  have  in 
common  is  a  certain  delight  in  the  whirlwind  of 
comment  that  follows  one  of  our  bouts.  After  every 
scene,  each  tired  Mother  explains  to  the  other — (both 
in  the  same  breath  and  in  the  same  words,  they  have 
been  over  the  ground  so  often), — that  never  does  her 
child  show  to  such  poor  advantage  as  when  with 
the  other!  But,  in  the  future,  by  seeing  more  of  each 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  197 

G22 RZg 

BS —  — K3 

other,  and  getting  used  to  playing  with  other  babies, 
they  do  hope  that — that — that — but  we  never  let  them 
finish.  You'd  be  surprised  at  the  amount  of  noise 
there  is  when  both  Sonny  and  I  yell  our  biggest,  and 
the  ladies  try  to  make  themselves  heard  above  us. 
Honestly  you  would. 

I  suppose  it  takes  a  good  many  years  to  understand 
humor  in  all  its  phases,  for  to-day,  to  my  chagrin, 
I  exhibited  a  marked  lack  of  appreciation  of  a  joke. 
I  still  think  the  joke  must  have  been  un-funny.  We 
were  sitting  on  the  couch  after  Sonny  had  been  got 
out  of  our  neighborhood — Father,  Mother  and  I. 
Father  suddenly  said,  "Son,  let's  have  some  fun  with 
Mother — let's  choke  her." 

He  grabbed  at  her  throat,  but  left  her  room  to  laugh. 
It  seemed  fearfully  serious  to  me,  and  I  beat  my  Father 
in  the  face,  and  shrieked  in  terror,  "No-no,  Daddy — 
no-no!  Dis  is  my  Mummah — dis  is  my  Mummah!" 

My  parents,  seeing  that  I  was  in  earnest,  stopped 
their  play,  while  I  burst  out  crying  and  clung  to  my 
Mother.  Father  apologized  and  tried  to  explain 


198  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

that  he  was  only  playing,  and  Mother  kissed  me 
gently  and  said  it  was  good  to-  know  she  had  a  cham- 
pion in  her  baby  son.  Maybe  they  thought  this 
funny,  but  I  did  not.  I  don't  believe  Daddy  knows 
about  that  iron  buckle  at  Mother's  throat,  and  he 
might — why,  I  shudder  to  think  what  he  might  do! 

From  then  until  bed  time,  the  pathetic  little  ex- 
pression they  sometimes  remark  on  my  face  (the  one 
behind  which  there  is  nothing),  settled  down  upon 
me,  and  I  was  un-smiling,  quite.  Mother  says  that 
sometimes  I  look  as  she  used  to  feel — whatever  this 
means.  I  had  an  attack  of  it  now,  sitting  silent,  even 
when  our  next  door  neighbor  came  in — she  for  whom 
I  steal  flowers  from  the  other  neighbors.  She  tried 
to  divert  me  by  saying  something  about  a  person  I 
have  not  met — the  sand  man,  she  called  him.  I 
know  the  ice  man,  the  milk  man  and  the  vegetable 
man.  Daresay  the  sand  man  is  one  of  the  same  lot. 

"What  time  does  Dicklet  naturally  retire?"  asked 
the  lady. 

"He  never  'naturally  retires',"  Mother  answered. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  199 

cga raa 

053  """BS 

"He  is  artificially  put  to  bed  about  seven.  It  is  a 
tragic  moment  for  us  all!" 

I  like  this  next  door  lady.  I  know  where  the  salted 
wafers  are  kept  at  her  house.  She  knows  I  know. 
She  doesn't  talk  too  much — one  thing  I  admire  in 
her.  Her  husband  says  he  thanks  the  Lord  he  hasn't 
any  kids.  But  just  the  same,  he  kisses  me  every  time 
he  is  perfectly  sure  nobody  is  seeing  him  do  it.  Mother 
asked  him  once  if  he  would  trade  his  fishing  outfit 
for  me  and  he  promptly  answered,  "I  should  say  not!" 

He  may  change.     No  telling.     I  will  wait. 

The  up-growns  at  our  house  would  have  an  easier 
time  finding  the  button-hook  they  want,  if  they  would 
look  on  the  inside  of  their  shoes  before  putting  their 
feet  in  and  getting  dents  in  themselves.  Then  they 
talk  about  children  never  learning  anything  by  ex- 
perience! 

Kissing  a  pleading  lady  through  the  banisters  as 
one  stands  part  way  upon  the  stairs,  is  fairly  amusing. 
Zest  is  added  to  the  game  by  standing  one  step  too 
high  for  the  lady,  causing  her  to  strain  herself.  Par- 


200  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

ESS  Go 

ticular  care  should  always  be  taken  to  duck  in  time 
to  let  the  lady  kiss  the  wood.  After  this  one  should 
endeavor  to  look  exquisitely  innocent.  Ladies  want 
most  the  things  they  humiliate  themselves  to  beg  for. 
They  are  generally  keen  to  get  a  kiss  from  someone 
who  has  none  to  give.  At  least,  such  has  been  my 
experience. 

I  am  aware  that  in  telling  a  story,  one  should  carry 
it  to  a  natural  conclusion;  but  I  can't  see  that  there 
is  any  natural  conclusion  to  a  life,  and  I  am  telling 
simply  of  a  life — my  life.  I  fail  to  comprehend  how 
a  conclusion  to  a  life  could  possibly  be  a  natural  one. 
There  would  have  to  be  devilment,  miscalculation 
or  premeditation  somewhere  along  the  line!  I  never 
expect  my  life  to  be  "naturally  concluded,"  but 
perhaps  one  can't  say  as  much  for  ducks.  Anyway, 
there  is  a  fact  not  yet  fully  taken  into  consideration 
at  our  house,  and  that  is  that  I  am  growing  up.  Un- 
noticed, I  have  learned  to  shove  chairs  up  to  high 
furniture  upon  which  ink,  ducks  and  other  things 
are  put  for  protection  from  persons  of  helpless  age. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  201 

To-day,  while  Mother  was  having  a  mental 
battle  with  herself  upon  the  question  which  was  the 
harder  for  a  sensitive  woman — to  take  a  gas  stove  all 
to  pieces  and  clean  it,  or  to  live  with  a  greasy  stove — 
I  was  up  stairs  on  a  chair,  silently  lifting  down  from  a 
shelf  that  little  stuffed  duck  that  was  given  me  by  the 
lovely  lady,  on  my  first  Easter. 

O  joy,  how  long  have  I  waited  for  thee!  I  took 
a  fall  out  of  that  duck  that  was  beautiful  in  its  com- 
pleteness. I  got  his  toe-nails  off;  I  got  one  downy 
wing  worked  off  the  wire  that  held  it;  I  got  a  fierce 
hole  stove  in  his  starboard  side,  and  both  glass  eyes 
dug  out,  when  Mother  interrupted  the  operation  by 
coming  to  see  what  caused  her  darling  to  be  so  quiet. 
Too  bad.  But  I  had  done  almost  all  I  could.  It 
wasn't  a  happy  moment  for  me,  altogether.  But 
I  must  say  that  I  stood  the  natural  conclusion  of  my 
meeting  with  my  Mother  better  than  the  duck  stood 
his  with  me. 

However,  between  the  spanking  and  annoying 
bits  of  fluff  from  the  duck's  clothes  which  had  worked 


202  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

pgi  Ega 

EG — 

their  way  into  my  nostrils,  I  was  forced  to  see  that 
most  pleasure  is  paid  for  one  way  or  another.  My 
pleasures  are  paid  for  mostly  in  one  way. 

But  one  thing  interests  me.  Do  the  people  who 
believe  that  lives  and  stories  arrive  at  natural  con- 
clusions, argue  that  this  duck  was  concluded  when 
they  caught  him  in  the  wood-pile  and  chopped  his 
head  off,  and  packed  him  off  to  Mr.  Vantine's  shop 
in  New  York  Town,  or  when  I  spent  my  few  un- 
chaperoned  moments  with  him?  And  after  all,  is 
this  ducklet's  conclusion  best  described  by  the  word 
"natural?"  But  I  must  not  exercise  my  brain  too 
much!  It  is  a  bad  habit.  And  I  wouldn't  for  the 
world  allow  myself  to  become  analytical  or  introspec- 
tive. It's  too  bad  about  ducks,  though. 

These  days  I  get  general  orders  every  time  Mother 
leaves  the  room.  She  turns  in  the  doorway,  and  says 
with  decision,  "Dont  touch  anything!"  Amusing? 

The  monotony  of  existence  was  delightfully  dis- 
turbed recently  by  the  visit  to  Park  Hill  of  an  Actress 
Lady  we  knew  slightly  in  New  York.  She  came  to 


1  tocK  a  fall  oui  of  %t  duck  ikat 
m  o  ) 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  203 

nga Eg 

(39  as 

our  house  to  luncheon,  and  she  said  the  biscuits  were 
"slumslicious."  If  you  know  a  very  lovely  Actress 
Lady  who  says  things  are  slumslicious,  you  know  who 
this  Actress  Lady  is.  Well,  the  Nicest  Man  in  Town 
lunched  with  us,  too,  and  they  all  planned  to  go  to 
the  ball  of  the  season  which  was  the  following  night. 
Mother  was  to  be  the  chaperone,  but  she  isn't  very 
old  and  usually  scorns  such  a  position.  This  time  it 
promised  to  be  different,  and  while  Mother,  as  a 
rule  is  not  much  keener  for  Society  than  Society  is 
for  her  (which  she  says  is  not  as  keen  as  it  might  be), 
still  she  and  Father  sat  in  a  box  to  see  the  Actress 
Lady's  play,  together  with  the  Nicest  Man  in  Town  and 
the  two  next  Nicest  Men  in  Town,  and  later  they  took 
the  Actress  Lady  to  the  ball. 

Mother  was  called  to  the  stage  door  back  of  the 
boxes  by  the  Star's  maid,  and  there  crouched  in  a 
heap  on  the  floor  was  the  Actress  Lady  in  her  fas- 
cinating fluffy  gown  of  the  last  act,  to  say  that  she 
would  be  a  real  woman  in  a  real  gown  in  five  minutes! 
They  waited  for  the  girl  on  the  deserted  stage,  and 


204  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

ii m 

then  they  all  passed  out  the  stage  entrance  to  the 
carriages  in  the  back  street.  It  was  all  rather  different 
from  the  way  Mother  goes  to  balls  (when  she  can't 
get  out  of  them — which  isn't  often). 

When  the  party  came  down  the  great  stair-case, 
there  was  a  half  moon  of  shirt-fronts,  three  deep,  at 
the  bottom,  and  pretty  ladies  were  parting  the  palms 
to  peep  through  at  the  beautiful,  gentle  Actress  Lady. 
Then  many  pleasant  people,  who  ordinarily  never 
had  time  to  stop  to  speak  to  us,  came  up  to  Mother 
in  flocks,  and  said  they  were  so  glad  to  know  she  had 
come  back  to  live  among  them,  and  they  were  coming 
to  see  her  so  soon,  They  were  then  introduced  to 
the  Actress  Lady,  each  one,  in  turn,  making  exactly 
the  same  little  remark,  with  the  possible  variation 
of  locality. 

"You  don't  remember  me,  of  course,"  each  lady 
said  in  shaking  hands  with  the  celebrity.  "But  I 
met  you  in  Bar  Harbor  three  years  ago  this  last  Au- 
gust!" 

"Oh — yes,"  graciously  answered  the  Actress  Lady, 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  205 

ga  Eg) 

BCT^  — as 

in  her  smooth,  low  voice,  that  even  the  profession- 
proof  Leading  Man  caught  himself  thinking  had  a 
personal  sweetness,  now  and  then,  "I  remember  that 
August  very  well,  indeed.  Bar  Harbor  is  delight- 
ful in  August,  isn't  it?" 

Then  the  shirt-fronts  crowded  up,  and  shook 
Mother  warmly  by  the  hand — especially  those  who 
never  could  tell  for  the  life  of  them,  whether  she  was 
herself,  or  one  of  her  sisters.  And  each  shirt-front, 
in  turn,  said  to  the  Actress  Lady,  "May  I  have  a 
dance?  You  know,  I  did  have  a  dance  with  you 
once — but,  of  course,  you  would  not  remember  it! 
It  was  at  a  lawn  party  in  Morristown,  given  by  Mrs — ." 

"Oh — yes!"  the  Actress  Lady  recalled  the  time, 
with  the  dearest  sweetest  little  glance  at  the  shirt- 
front,  "I  remember  that  lawn  party,  perfectly!  Awfully 
jolly  sort  of  place,  Morristown — don't  you  think  so?" 

And  Mother,  who  had  not  had  so  many  men  eager 
to  get  near  her  since  the  time  when  she  carelessly 
got  drowned,  had  the  most  deliciously  entertaining 
time  she  had  had  since  she  lost  her  grip  on  the  humor 


206  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

n m 

of  things,  in  acquiring  me.  Cousin  Martha's  former 
suit-case  sympathizers  were  all  there,  as  was  also 
the  stirring  dame  who  had  taken  such  pride  in  spread- 
ing it  all  over  the  community,  that  Martha  had  in- 
vited her  to  lunch  with  her  in  New  York,  but  that 
she  had  been  obliged  to  decline,  as  Martha  had 
shown  the  astonishing  lack  of  tact  of  presuming  to 
ask  her  to  lunch  at  her  husband's  house — as  though 
she  could  possibly  consider  eating  under  the  roof  of 
a  grocer!  Her  fine  feeling  was  especially  interesting 
to  Mother,  whose  quick  eye  rested  at  once  upon  an 
ornament  belonging  to  Cousin  Martha,  which  this 
dame  had  never  returned.  The  dame,  however, 
meant  the  best  in  the  world — she  had  told  my  Mother 
that  she  was  truly  sorry  to  have  been  obliged  to  hurt 
Cousin  Martha,  and  she  wanted  us  all  to  know  that 
if  Martha  had  been  considerate  enough  to  have  asked 
her  to  Sherry's  or  Martin's,  she  would  have  gone,  no 
matter  how  she  felt  about  the  grocery  business.  Nice 
of  her — and  we  are  glad  the  little  ornament  she  has 
neglected  to  return,  is  so  becoming. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  207 

The  gentleman  who  kept  Mr.  Ludlow — a  stranger 
to  him — supplied  with  all  of  the  brilliant  local  news- 
paper clippings  with  red  head-lines  on  his  marriage 
such  as  "Her  New  York  Club  Man  turns  out  to  be 
the  Grocery  Boy" — he  whose  regard  for  his  gentle- 
manhood  was  so  strong  that  he  used  his  club  envelopes 
— he  was  there,  lending  distinction  to  the  function. 
And  he  who  used  to  say  that  the  quality  of  Mother's 
voice  touched  places  in  his  soul  that  nothing  else  had 
ever  reached — he  who  this  evening  asked  her  flatter- 
ingly what  it  was  she  used  to  do  that  was  interesting, 
paint? — he  was  there.  Well,  rather! 

And  after  a  while  the  Nicest  Man  in  Town  stood  in 
the  doorway  of  the  ballroom,  his  great  coat  over  his 
arm  and  his  hat  in  his  hand,  looking  up  at  the  lovely 
Actress  Lady,  as  she  came  gracefully  down  the  stairs 
with  her  wrap  on.  She  was  saying  gentle  little  things, 
right  and  left,  like,  "I'm  sorry  we  must  say  good-night 
so  early,  but  I  have  a  matinee  to-morrow!  One  day 
we  shall  meet  again,  I  am  sure,  and  everybody  will 
remember  everybody  else — and  won't  it  be  jolly?" 


208  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

g£3  ••  '         '  •'••••--  «---.-.  ^^—*  liSs? 

And  to  Mother  she  said  she  would  be  sure  to  write 
her  a  note  from  San  Francisco — and  that  Mother 
need  not  fancy  that  because  she  was  an  actress  girl, 
she  would  forget!  "I  shall  always  love  Dicklet," 
she  added. 

"And  I  shall  always  think  of  you  as  you  hurried 
through  the  darkened  theatre,  and  all  those  stage 
people  wished  you  a  happy  time  at  the  ball!"  Mother 
said  to  her,  in  parting. 

Perhaps  it  is  well  that  work-a-day  women  in  vastly 
different  callings,  can  see  the  picturesque  side  of  each 
other's  lives.  It  helps  the  world  go  around — a  little. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FATHER  has  accepted  a  position  somewhere 
away  on  the  train-cars.  From  the  fact  that  it 
was  all  very  quickly  decided,  and  because 
on  our  way  to  the  station  to  see  Father  off,  he  and 
Mother  spoke  of  trivial  things  with  a  great  effort  at 
being  impersonal,  I  know  they  both  feel  depressed 
and  fear  a  long  separation. 

Strange  thing  about  the  blues — so  many  intelligent 
people  have  them,  there  must  be  something  in  them. 

It  was  dreadful  to  come  back  alone,  just  Mother 
and  I.  I  thought  for  a  moment  our  key  would  refuse 
to  unlock  the  front  door.  I  was  rocked  to  sleep;  and 
when  anything  like  this  happens  in  our  family,  you 
can  count  on  it,  I  am  needed.  I  don't  think  I  was 
rocked  for  my  own  pleasure,  if  you  care  to  know. 
And  the  way  that  "Bye-O  Baby  Bunting"  got  sung 

to  me,  in  jerks,  was  not  at  all  cheerful. 

209 


210  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Breakfast  was  a  chokey  sort  of  an  affair.  The 
morning  seemed  very  long;  the  afternoon  dragged; 
and  at  five  o'clock,  Mother  acquired  an  attack  of 
nerves  and  began  walking  the  floor.  I  took  my  usual 
place  at  the  window  to  watch  for  the  "Daddy-car." 
It  comes  from  town  about  five. 

"Couldn't  you  think  of  something  else  to  do,  be- 
sides stand  at  that  window?"  demanded  Mother, 
none  too  considerately. 

I  could  have  done  something  else,  no  doubt,  but 
I  would  not.  I  just  stood  patiently  watching  car  after 
car  go  by,  and  sinking  deeper  into  that  expression 
that  looks  the  way  Mother  used  to  feel — the  way  she 
was  feeling  about  now,  too.  Finally,  I  was  marched 
up  to  bed.  But  at  nine  o'clock  (think  of  it's  being 
so  late!),  Mother  was  still  rocking  me,  and  I  was 
doing  all  I  could  to  be  polite  and  stay  awake  to  show 
my  appreciation  of  such  un-dreamed  of  courtesy. 

After  this  Mother  went  down  on  the  porch.  She 
did  not  eat.  Silly.  Ladies  always  take  their  griev- 
ances out  on  Life  by  not  eating.  It  does  not  hurt 


at) 


affair. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  211 

Life.  Most  ladies  take  a  little  tea  and  toast  in  place 
of  their  usual  dinner,  when  the  man  is  away.  Mother 
is  yet  worse.  She  cannot  stand  the  dining  room.  We 
only  go  in  there  to  dust,  and  change  the  water  the 
sweet-peas  live  in.  I  am  fed  punctually,  of  course. 
I  think  I  shall  call  a  halt  on  custard  soon.  I  often 
look  longingly  at  the  lemon  pies  they  grow  next  door. 
Coddled  egg  becomes  monotonous,  although  it  has 
its  uses  in  gumming  up  the  tray  of  one's  high  chair, 
and  is  fairly  good  for  decorating  the  fringe  of  bibs. 
Otherwise,  excuse  me!  Custard  is  another  form  of 
coddled  egg,  one  which  the  up-growns  fancy  a  clever 
deceit.  I  can't  see  that  it  is  possible  to  fool  a  person 
of  helpless  age  forever  and  ever  with  the  same  trick. 
I  am  looking  forward  to  talking  over  this  point  with 
Mother  some  day. 

My  Mother  has  carefully  instructed  her  Mother 
upon  the  class  of  gifts  most  acceptable  to  small  per- 
sons on  their  second  birthdays.  "Give  the  boy  little 
things,"  she  advised. 

Now  I  have  vast  numbers  of  bright,  new  pennies 


212  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

and  nickels  from  the  Mint;  and  the  good  word  getting 
to  Aunty  Catherine,  I  have  hundreds  of  tiny  glass 
beads  to  string;  and  the  idea  being  passed  on  to 
Aunty  Beatrice,  I  have  miniature  train-cars  one 
inch  long;  and  Aunty  Hope  not  wishing  to  be  un- 
fashionable, has  given  me  a  game  with  many,  many 
wee  pegs  to  be  stuck  in  cardboard  holes,  but  which 
I  prefer  to  stick  in  Mother's  gloves,  or  in  the  bread 
box.  We  have  to  side-step  to  keep  off  the  beads, 
we  find  pegs  in  the  beds,  the  sand-pile  is  full  of  pennies, 
and  the  little  engine  hops  down  people's  backs — with 
my  help. 

I  think  we  are  going  crazy.  Mother  says  this  is 
her  last  theory  on  toys,  and  she  hopes  the  next  time 
it  is  Christmas,  or  I  am  of  another  year's  age,  the 
family  will  combine  and  give  me  one  big  thing  that 
cannot  turn  up  in  the  soup  unexpectedly — for  in- 
stance, a  mule  or  a  grand  piano. 

My  favorite  .sentence  is,  "I  want  to  help  my  Mum- 
mah!  "And  the  other  day  when  the  laundress  came  here 
with  the  finger  of  her  glove  shockingly  ripped  at  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  213 

tip,  I  remarked,  "All  bit — too  bad!"  which  I  think 
shows  that  I  am  progressing  in  the  art  of  expressing 
myself  in  words.  Don't  you?  Strange,  is  it  not,  that 
when  one  understands  so  much,  he  can  say  so  little? 

My  Grandfather  has  a  new  automobile,  which 
greatly  impressed  Park  Hill  this  afternoon  when  he 
drove  out  to  our  place  in  it,  on  its  first  trip.  My 
Grandmother,  in  the  tonneau,  looked  most  got-up 
and  beaming.  My  boy-uncle  exhibited  the  correct 
degree  of  assumed  indifference  for  one  feeling  so 
superior  to  the  other  High  School  boys,  while  the 
chauffeur  was  noticeable  for  being  a  shade  darker 
than  Miss  Clara  Cummins,  and  quite  as  self-appre- 
ciative, if  not  more  so.  Furthermore,  he  was  a  bit 
too  crisp,  so  to  speak,  in  taking  the  big  car  around 
corners.  There  was  a  spirit  of  cake-walk  in  his 
driving,  due,  possibly,  to  his  great  pride  in  being 
chosen  to  take  the  car  out  the  initial  tour,  and  to  teach 
the  new  owner  how  to  run  it. 

Well,  they  picked  us  up,  and  off  we  all  went  for 
a  drive — our  neighbors  not  having  been  so  interested 


214  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

in  us  since  the  day  we  took  snapshots  of  the  lovely 
Actress  Lady  in  our  back  yard,  with  me  in  her  arms. 

"Don't  be  nervous,  dear,"  my  Grandmother  kept 
saying,  reassuringly  to  Mother.  "No  harm  will 
come  to  the  blessed  boy!"  I,  Dicklet,  am  he  referred 
to  as  "blessed"  by  my  Grandmother.  It  is  a  pleasant 
word — blessed — but  there  is  a  tone  of  fatality  in  it, 
especially  to  the  sensitive  while  automobiling.  I 
closed  my  hand  tightly  on  the  two  new  nickels  that 
had  begged  to  come  with  me.  They  were  not  de- 
lighted at  being  called  "blessed,"  either,  as  we  shot 
around  curves.  They  just  escaped  being  poked 
down  a  crack  in  the  floor  of  the  front  porch,  by  the 
arrival  of  the  family  and  the  new  machine,  and  they 
weren't  anxious  to  get  into  any  more  trouble.  They 
clung  to  me  and  I  to  them,  and  Mother  to  both  of  us. 

Grandmother  made  the  same  little  remark  she  al- 
ways made  when  we  were  out  together,  a  remark  to 
the  effect  that  Mother's  hat  would  be  much  more 
becoming  if  it  were  bent  down  at  the  back.  Mother 
replied,  irrelevantly  but  feelingly,  that  as  Father  was 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  215 

out  of  town,  and  I  was  their  pride  (and  there  were 
no  duplicate  copies),  she  did  wish  we  might  drive 
a  little  more  conservatively.  It  seemed  too  bad  that 
the  public  should  not  have  a  definite  glimpse  of  us, 
too — we  were  so  elated,  it  was  a  pity  not  to  let  the 
joy  be  seen  by  others! 

"Pray,  don't  worry,  dear!"  Grandmother  insisted, 
(as  we  dashed  out  of  the  Park  at  the  rate  of  thirty 
miles  a  hour,  when  the  regulations  were  "Automo- 
biles— Notice!  Not  faster  than  8  miles").  "You 
see,  dear,"  my  Grandmother  went  on,  "this  Negro 
is  a  thoroughly  trained  chauffeur,  and  is  specially 
recommended  by  the  man  from  whom  we  bought 
the  car.  He  simply  has  the  love  of  his  race  for  show- 
ing-off.  He  will  slow  down,  presently.  We  are 
hurrying  just  a  little  now  because  Brother  has  an  en- 
gagement to  take  Hope  to  a  concert." 

"Well,"  ventured  Mother,  "I  don't  question  the 
darkey's  ability  as  a  driver,  especially  when  it 
comes  to  making  time — but  is  he  anything  of  a  surgeon?" 

This  remark  was  probably  not  particularly  bright, 


216  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

which  accounted  for  the  Negro's  hat  blowing  off 
just  at  this  instant.  He  turned  to  look  after  the  hat, 
it  being  a  very  well-worn  specimen  of  cheap  felt 
that  might  have  got  dusty.  While  he  was  looking, 
the  car  dashed  rudely  up  to  a  telegraph  pole  to  shake 
hands  with  it,  without  first  being  introduced. 

Something  blew  up  like  a  barrel  of  dynamite. 
Somebody  yelled  "My  God!"  And  besides  other 
things  that  occurred,  Mother's  hat  at  last  got  bent 
down  at  the  back. 

It  was  summer  and  everybody  was  out  on  her  porch. 
Later  we  heard  many  versions  of  the  accident,  but 
one  old  lady  witness  reverently  announced  that  the 
only  reason  we  were  not  all  killed  outright,  was  be- 
cause "the  Lord  did  not  want  us,"  which  statement 
has  more  truth  in  it,  doubtless,  than  the  lady  imagined; 
for,  while  Mother's  family  love  each  other  much, 
they  love  to  argue  with  each  other  more — there  being 
considerable  Kentucky  and  a  little  Killarney  in  them, 
in  spots.  It  is  only  to  be  supposed  that  the  Authorities 
would  think  twice  before  taking  so  many  of  us  into 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  217 

m m 

Heaven  at  one  sitting.  It  might  disturb  the  evenness 
of  the  present  administration. 

Mother's  first  idea,  after  so  unceremoniously  changing 
her  seat  in  Grandfather's  new  motor,  for  a  more  for- 
mal one  in  the  gutter  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 
was  that  her  skull  was  crushed  in  at  the  back,  as  well 
as  her  hat.  Then  floods  of  horror  swept  over  her — 
she  was  afraid  to  look  for  me.  I  was  interested  to 
see  her  who  used  to  wake  up  hoping  she  no  longer 
had  a  baby  to  complicate  her  life,  now,  in  maddened 
intensity,  try  to  force  herself  to  face  the  possibility 
of  finding  this  to  be  true.  She  did  not  mind  her  twisted 
ankle,  nor  her  bent-at-the-back  hat,  nor  the  little 
stream  of  blood  running  down  her  cheek,  nor  any 
of  her  other  dents,  but  I  was  worried  lest  before  I 
found  the  breath  to  call  to  her,  the  iron  buckle  would 
drive  itself  into  her  throat,  and  this  would  be  the  end. 

I  nervously  sobbed,  just  in  time.  She  looked  up 
to  see  me  crawling  toward  her.  I  had  bounced  out 
like  a  rubber  ball.  She  grabbed  me  with  such 
fierce  strength  she  hurt  me  a  lot  more  than  the  accident 


218  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

had.  She  struggled  to  the  sidewalk  with  me  close 
to  her,  where  we  had  excited  remarks  made  into  our 
buzzing  ears,  and  whisky  and  hair-tonic  poured  on 
us  and  into  us,  by  kind  people  who  had  the  surprising 
good  manners  not  to  laugh. 

My  boy-uncle  groggily  got  to  his  feet  and  made  for 
the  nearest  street-car  line,  to  keep  his  appointment 
with  his  sister — it  was  all  he  knew  until  next  morning 
and  he  never  did  know  where  he  lit,  or  what  had  hit 
him.  Grandfather,  whose  head  had  grazed  the 
coping  walked  like  a  tipsy  sailor  to  where  my  Grand- 
mother sat  rocking  to  and  fro  in  a  hysterical  mass  of 
fine  clothes,  asphalt  chips  and  blood  stains,  and  he 
remarked,  "One  of  you  women  scratched  the  back 
of  the  seat  getting  out  of  the  machine!"  He  gets 
red  every  time  anybody  tells  this  story  on  him,  and 
he  says  it  is  a  wicked  libel — that  he  at  once  inquired 
for  the  dead  and  wounded!  Then  we  all  laugh — 
another  reason  why  they  would  rather  have  our  family 
enter  Heaven  on  the  installment  plan. 

Nobody  was  killed.     We  went  home  in  the  street 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  219 

car,  for  which  we  gave  ourselves  congratulations. 
The  city  did  not  charge  us  for  knocking  the  telegraph 
pole  out  of  plumb.  It  is  quite  possible  for  a  Negro 
to  turn  pale.  Mr.  Cake- Walk  got  his  hat  back — and 
he  got  some  other  things  that  were  due  him.  Believe 
me.  They  mended  the  car,  but  it  took  them  weeks 
to  do  it. 

We  dream  of  tigers  at  night,  especially  if,  during 
the  day,  we  have  heard  an  automobile  horn — which 
sound  we  do  not  care  for  as  we  once  did.  We  hope 
that  if  anyone  else  has  any  free  rides  to  give  Mother 
and  me,  he  will  bring  the  milk  wagon  or  some  such 
moderate  kind  of  vehicle,  we  being  a  bit  shy  of  non- 
rail-going  buggies.  Thank  you  just  the  same. 

The  two  nickels  arrived  home  safely  in  the  palm 
of  my  hand,  but  they  had  the  wind  pretty  well  squeezed 
out  of  them.  I  think  they  will  enjoy  a  quiet  rest  in 
our  ash  pit,  if  ever  I  can  succeed  in  throwing  them 
high  enough  to  get  in  the  hole  at  the  top.  So  thought- 
less of  up-growns  to  build  ash-pit  openings  up  so  far! 

It  is  lonely  to  go  out  in  an  automobile  without 


220  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

one's  Father.  It  is  yet  lonelier  to  come  home  without 
him. 

Manufacturers,  salesmen  and  enthusiasts  will  ex- 
plain to  you,  if  you  are  weak  enough  to  permit  it, 
that  the  "automobile  is  the  conveyance  of  the  future." 
They  caught  Grandfather  on  that  phrase.  But — 
(take  it  from  me!) — it  is  a  conveyance  to  the  fu- 
ture, and  you'd  better  look  out  for  it! 


M 


CHAPTER   XVII 

Y  Father  makes  a  ring  on  every  letter  to 
Mother,  and  writes  in  it  "A  kiss  for  the  kid." 
I  see  the  postman  coming  sooner  than  any- 
one else,  and  I  run  to  Mother  and  get  the  bit  of  paper 
with  my  kiss  on  it.  I  carry  this  all  day,  except  when 
I  lose  it;  and  at  night,  having  exhausted  every  other 
excuse  to  make  my  tired  Mother  climb  the  stairs  again, 
I  cry  for  my  "Daddy-kiss."  My  Mother,  like  other 
little  boys'  Mothers,  cannot  refuse  this  plea.  Funny 
how  much  one  is  born  knowing!  'Most  every  man 
is  born  knowing  all  the  weaknesses  in  the  ladies. 
Just  looking  pathetic,  is  one  of  the  most  effective 
proofs  of  this  statement.  You  might  try  it  yourself, 
sometime. 

I  have  been  ill,  and  Mother  is  worn  out.     First  it 
was  hot,  then  the  vegetable  man  meant  to  be  kind, 

and  gave  me  a  raw  carrot — a  dainty  that  Mother 

221 


222  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

has  often  seen  cab-drivers  in  Germany  indulge  in, 
while  sitting  on  the  box  with  their  feet  done  up  in 
burlap  and  straw,  without  any  ill  results  to  their  inner 
workings,  so  far  as  the  Bureau  of  Vital  Statistics 
knew.  But  there  is  something  in  the  highly-strung 
organism  of  American  persons  of  helpless  age  that 
makes  them  differ  from  German  cab-drivers.  The 
carrot  in  my  case  did  not  set  well.  I  could  feel  it 
shift.  Later  on  I  went  in  to  call  a  few  houses  up, 
where  two  children  are  kept  pretty  sick,  as  a  rule, 
by  their  mother's  native  stupidity;  and  here,  "She," 
as  her  husband  calls  her,  gave  me  a  basket  of  green 
grapes,  and  encouraged  me  to  eat  all  I  liked — skins, 
seeds  and  all.  This  was  too  great  a  strain  on  the 
carrot.  Certainly.  I  ought  to  have  had  my  feet 
done  up  in  straw  when  I  ate  it. 

I  really  cannot  say — women  are  such  complicated 
ones — whether  it  is  because  our  Doctor  is  a  good 
physician,  or  because  he  has  an  automobile  and  re- 
fuses to  have  a  speed-mania  attachment  put  in,  or 
just  because  once  when  he  was  in  training  in  New 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  223 

m m 

York,  he  knew  Mother's  Special  Physician,  but 
anyway,  we  believe  in  him.  It  did  not  take  our 
Doctor  long  to  get  to  iis;  and  someway,  we  felt  happier, 
ill,  with  our  Doctor  headed  for  our  house,  than  we 
would  have  felt,  well,  with  no  excuse  to  see  him.  We 
hope  he  will  never  find  it  out. 

The  new  Doctor  makes  me  well  quickly.  Besides, 
I  get  some  pleasure  out  of  a  slow  drive  around  the 
block  in  his  machine.  He  drives  right-side  up — a 
great  relief.  We  never  worry  about  raw  carrots  and 
green  grapes  when  he  is  in  town,  we  only  worry  about 
the  neighbors.  If  I  were  "She,"  I  would  be  more 
careful  how  I  walked  out,  unprotected,  near  Mother. 
As  for  the  vegetable  man — well,  we  have  changed 
vegetable  men! 

Aunty  Catherine  came  up  here  from  the  Springs 
and  took  me  home  with  her.  As  the  train  pulled  out, 
I  put  my  face  close  to  the  car  window,  and  searched 
the  crowd  at  the  station  for  my  Mother.  I  looked 
hunted.  I  suppose  I  might  have  spared  my  Mother 
this,  when  I  knew  how  much  she  needed  a  few  nights' 


224  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

g m 

sleep,  after  her  hard  week  with  me.  But  no.  There 
is  a  streak  of  brute  in  babies.  There  is  something 
satisfied  in  me  when  my  Mother  goes  back  to  that 
still  house,  and  buries  her  face  in  my  empty  clothes, 
and  is  un-crying — something  satisfied  in  this,  that 
otherwise  would  be  left  wondering.  Men-beings 
should  always  remember  to  look  a  little  tragic  when 
leaving  the  ladies  that  are  near  to  them,  especially 
when  leaving  them  in  overwhelming  desolation,  and 
when  going  away  for  a  good  time,  themselves. 

Having  supplied  the  left-behind-ones  with  suffi- 
cient suggestion  for  the  misery  they  delight  in,  men- 
beings  should  at  once  smile.  This  I  did  before  the 
train  was  out  of  the  yards.  I  shall  see  the  lady  of 
the  cookies.  I  shall  look  for  that  delightful  empty 
bone  and  fill  it  with  gravel  from  Aunty  Catherine's 
walk.  I  shall  pester  the  cat  with  sincere  hugs.  I 
shall  kiss  enough  of  the  lady  callers  to  make  them 
want  to  come  in  to  tea  often.  I  will  make  Aunty 
Catherine  wish  she  had  a  little  boy,  while  I  am  with 
her;  and  see  that  she  is  glad  she  hasn't,  when  I  leave, 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  225 

And  as  for  Mother — well,  she  can  sit,  as  usual, 
on  the  porch,  and  watch  the  summer  evenings  turn 
blue,  until  the  great  mountains  and  the  night  grow  into 
one  darkness.  If  she  likes,  Mother  can  think  of 
Father's  touching  little  remarks  about  his  room  at 
his  hotel  in  Montana  being  so  wretched  he  can't 
bear  to  go  there  until  two  o'clock  or  so  in  the  morning. 
She  can  amuse  herself  thinking  of  Father  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  or  before  two  o'clock — just 
whichever  she  thinks  she  can  get  the  more  worry  out 
of. 

Most  women  are  waiting.  It  is  a  waiting  job  to 
be  a  woman.  Very  sorry,  if  they  don't  always  like 
it,  but  it  is  so.  Women  try  sometimes  to  change  things, 
but  they  end  up — waiting.  A  woman  who  has  post- 
poned her  waiting  by  a  little  play-acting  at  living 
in  the  world  with  her  own  life,  finds  pain  in  her  soul, 
where  otherwise  there  would  have  been  only — va- 
cancy— perhaps.  This  is  what  I  think,  although  I 
can  see  that  thinking  may  be  out  of  my  line.  If  my 
Mother  had  never  tried  to  sing  with  her  voice,  she 


226  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

^j— m 

might  have  sung  in  living  a  joyous  life,  dealing  with 
raw  carrots  and  me;  she  might  have  seen  the  humor 
in  never  staying  in  any  one  place  long  enough  to  get 
a  gas  stove  paid  for,  before  boxing  up  and  following 
fate. 

Eventually  I  was  brought  home,  and  Aunty  Cather- 
ine, very  handsome  in  an  early  autumn  suit  and  becom- 
ing hat,  looked  at  Mother  with  sisterly  feeling  and  said, 
"Dear  girl,  I  can't  say  how  sorry  I  am  for  you,  living 
here  by  yourself  all  these  months  with  only  this  child!" 

And  Mother  replied,  also  with  sisterly  feeling, 
"Well,  dear  girl,  when  I  am  a  well-preserved,  middle- 
aged  woman,  on  my  way  to  see  my  son  graduated 
from  Harvard,  and  you  are  still  as  you  are  now,  I 
shall  be  sorry  for  you!" 

This,  and  other  little  things  tended  to  make  me  see 
that  I  was  welcomed  home. 

I  like  to  drive  with  Grandfather,  although  he  is 
the  sort  of  chauffeur  who  miraculously  saves  one's 
life  four  or  five  times  each  voyage.  We  often  drive 
out  onto  the  prairie,  and  Grand-dad  takes  us  very 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  227 

BE)  fgj 

as —  ^^83 

near  all  possible  danger,  such  as  wash-outs  and  ir- 
rigation ditches,  and  lets  his  machine  quiver,  while 
he  points  off  to  the  horizon,  and  says,  "See  that 
splendid  property?  Well,  some  day,  we  shall  see  a 
pretty  suburb  there,  with  schools,  and  churches  and 
stores.  If  people  had  any  sense,  they  would  buy  up 
this  property  and  hold  it  a  little  while." 

Mother,  who  always  sees  the  horrible  possibilities 
in  things,  nervously  inquires  of  Grand-dad  where- 
abouts he  thinks  they  will  lay  out  the  cemetery.  But 
I  am  growing  used  to  Grandfather's  driving,  and 
personally,  I  think  he  will  save  us  from  violent  death 
just  as  long  as  he  can — and  still  drive  where  he  pleases. 
And  anything  is  better  than  staying  at  home  all  the 
time.  Mother  says  she  never  did  belong  to  that 
class  of  society  that  dresses  up  its  youngsters  and  spends 
the  Fourth  out  with  the  populace. 

All  ladies  should  be  non-thinking.  It  would  be 
easier  then  to  wait. 

Babies  grow  up — if  one  gives  them  time. 

We  are  going  to  move  again.     Packers  are  coming 


228  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Eg)  EH3 

BS BS 

to  box  up  things.  We  are  going  to  the  far-away 
place  on  the  train-cars  where  Daddy  is.  We  have 
lived  here,  and  Daddy  there,  until  it  is  proved  that 
Daddy's  position  is  permanent  and  satisfactory. 
Having  decided  it  is  all  for  the  best,  we  are  disposing 
of  our  present  gas  stove  for  a  sufficient  amount  to  make 
the  last  payment,  and  are  headed  for  a  new  gas  stove 
and  some  more  of  Life's  detail. 

With  all  the  crating  going  on  about  this  place,  I 
have  marked  fears  that  they  will  over-look  packing 
up  the  sand-pile. 

Our  physician  glanced  over  the  wreck  of  our  lovely 
little  home  to-day,  and  remarked  that  it  was  a  great 
regret  to  him  to  see  the  little  brown  house  on  the 
prairie  dismantled;  he  had  grown  fond  of  it.  Seems 
to  me  he  had  little  to  do  to  make  it  any  harder  to  go 
away.  Physicians  are  a  strange  lot,  they  have  much 
talent  for  making  their  patients  remember  them. 
1 1 90  is  the  number  of  our  Doctor's  automobile,  and 
there  are  other  pleasant  things  about  him  that  don't 
come  to  me  at  the  moment.  If  a  lady  must  miss  her 


jtar  il^rak  «f  our  Ucjifjiiik  ^aje  Wajf. 

s 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  229 

physician,  I  should  say  it  is  better  for  her  to  miss  two 
of  them,  than  just  one.  We  are  now  missing  two, 
one  with  an  automobile,  and  one  without.  No 
physician  ever  got  an  umbrella  out  of  us,  however, 
but  it  is  not  because  we  did  not  long  to  give  it  to  him. 

Whenever  Life  crowds  too  heavily  upon  my  Mother, 
she  wants  a  piano.  She  has  not  had  a  piano  for  years. 
There  must  be  a  reason.  My  Mother  has  had  every- 
thing she  has  needed — except  a  piano.  This  is 
fate.  My  Mother  is  superstitious,  and  believes  that 
it  is  because  when  she  had  the  opportunity  given  her 
to  learn  to  play  the  piano,  she  used  to  sit  and  dream. 
She  cannot  play.  She  has  told  me  that  living  for 
months  without  Father  would  not  have  been  so  hard, 
if  we  had  had  a  piano.  I  can't  see  why. 

My  Mother  says  there  is  no  rest  in  being  some- 
body's mother,  but  personally,  I  fancy  there  is  just 
as  much  as  there  is  in  being  somebody's  son!  Don't 
think  for  a  moment  it  does  not  require  considerable 
effort  to  hold  my  position!  Sudden  dismissal  con- 
stantly threatens  me,  if  I  don't  stop  saying,  "Mummah." 


230  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Gsa  sa 

BS^^  — BS 

"Say  Mother,  Dicklet!"  my  Mother  sternly  in- 
sists. "Do  that  much  for  me,  I  beg  of  you!  You 
are  no  longer  a  baby.  Why,  you  are  over  two 
years  old — quite  old  enough  to  treat  me  with  proper 
dignity." 

I  would  not  flatter  any  woman  by  bending  too 
quickly  to  her  will,  and  when  we  have  these  little 
times  of  correction,  I  just  smile,  and  remark,  "Mine 
likes  to  say  Mummah!" 

To-day  I  studied  my  Mother  and  lisped,  "Blue 
eyes!"  She  looked  as  happy  as  the  sun  coming  out 
after  a  rain,  so  I  spoiled  the  effect  of  my  tenderness 
by  continuing,  "Mine  wishes  Mine  could  git  'em 
out,  an*  play  wif  'em!" 

I  don't  know  whether  my  Mother  is  pretty,  or  not, 
but  I  think  not.  Her  nose  is  awfully  long,  and  fre- 
quently gets  in  my  eye  when  she  kisses  me.  My 
eyes  are  brown,  and  my  nose  is  not  old  enough  to 
get  in  anybody's  way.  Rather  glad.  Cats*  noses 
are  part  of  their  faces.  I  tried  to  show  the  cat  how 
to  wipe  her  nose  yesterday.  P.  S.  I  did  not  succeed. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  231 

We  broke  a  glass,  and  I  got  little  gas-pipe  trenches 
dug  in  myself  by  the  cat's  ringer  nails.  So  rude.  It 
is  very  hard  to  teach  cats  things. 

My!  But  a  torn  up  house  is  dismal!  Why,  it 
is  so  wretched  here  that  Mother  forgot  herself  and 
rocked  me  to-night,  sitting  on  a  box  of  books.  She 
sang  about  "Daddy's  gone  a-hunting."  It  is  not  so 
very  easy  to  be  the  Father  of  one.  The  Father  has 
to  make  money,  and  there  are  so  many  men  who  might 
get  there  first,  it  must  be  difficult. 

I  think  these  facts  were  heavy  in  my  Mother  as  she 
rocked  me  on  the  packing-case.  Also,  while  singing 
this  old  tune,  she  was  thinking.  In  her  mind  there 
was  a  sort  of  home-made  comedy  going  on,  with  just 
one  actor — a  kind  of  dream-person  called  "Lullaby e." 
From  my  sleepy  glimpses  into  her  thinking,  I  should 
judge  that  a  Lullabye  is  a  spirit  which  takes  form 
at  times  in  a  song.  Mother's  mind  says  a  Lullabye 
is  a  song  usually  written  by  a  man  who  would  throw 
a  book  at  the  first  child  that  interrupted  him  while 
doing  it — a  song  sung  by  a  lady  to  up-grown  persons 


232  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m B§ 

in  a  drawing  room,  while  her  model,  modern  baby 
is  put  to  bed  by  a  nurse  in  a  dark  room,  as  he  should 
be. 

My  Mother,  herself,  used  to  sing  Lullabyes,  pay- 
ing much  attention  to  her  breathing,  voice  production 
and  phrasing.  She  never  knew  any  Lullabye  with- 
out her  music,  and  she  never  could  play  her  own 
accompaniments.  To-night  she  was  wondering  what 
was  the  real  idea  of  a  Lullabye.  Certainly  women 
do  not  put  years  of  work  and  much  money  into  music 
for  the  purpose  of  singing  to  their  own  children. 
Even  /  can  see  this.  I  think  they  must  do  it  so 
they  can  say  self-consciously,  when  asked  to  sing, 
"Well,  it  is  rather  soon  after  dinner,  isn't  it? 
And  I  am  horribly  out  of  practice,  but,  if  you  like,  I 
will  try  a  little  Lullabye." 

Then  somebody  comes  to  the  surface,  pleasantly, 
and  remarks,  that  the  singer  has  an  exquisite  voice 
and  a  great  future.  And  the  "future"  of  a  great 
many  Lullabye-singing  women  is  sitting  on  a  case  of 
books,  humming  "Bye-O  Baby  Bunting,  Daddy's 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  233 

gone  a-hunting,  to  get  a  rabbit's  skin  to  wrap  his 
baby  up  in!"  This  Lullabye  is  a  real  Lullabye, 
seldom  sung  in  a  drawing  room,  being  too  actual  in 
its  story  to  be  merely  an  amusement.  It  is  good  for 
going-to-sleep  purposes  though,  as  it  is  monotonous, 
and  can  be  sung  immediately  after  dinner,  with  or 
without  a  piano  accompaniment,  by  a  voice  in  or 
out  of  condition.  We  have  quite  a  library  of  Lulla- 
byes — they  are  kept  in  a  case  up  stairs,  now  that  no 
piano  lives  with  my  Mother,  while  "Baby  Bunting" 
is  always  ready  to  sing  itself  to  me. 

"Sing  it  again?"  I  pleaded. 

"Very  well,  son,"  she  said,  sadly.  "I  am  glad 
you  like  it — it  is  the  only  one  I  know  that  I  never  saw 
on  a  printed  page." 

I  hope  Daddy  has  the  rabbit  skin.  I'd  rather 
have  it  than  my  Russian  blouses,  or  even  my  over- 
hauls. 

We  are  going  on  the  train-cars  to-morrow  to  a  new 
home. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  Mothers  of  men  would  be  rich  if  they 
got  one  dollar,  or  thereabouts,  for  each  time 
they  said,  "Don't  hold  the  screen  door  open, 
dear — it  lets  the  flies  in!" 

Habit  is  strong  in  Mothers.  The  idea  of  constant 
correction  lives  in  them  when  unnecessary.  In  other 
words,  Mothers  do  not  take  vacations  when  vacations 
offer  themselves.  My  Mother  got  off  her  screen-door 
remark  to-day,  when  there  was  not  a  thing  in  the  little 
brown  house  for  a  fly  to  sit  on — not  even  a  packing 
case  or  a  bit  of  trash,  for  everything  was  left  empty 
and  tidy  and  clean;  and  besides,  it  is  November, 
and  for  days  we,  like  the  flies,  have  been  frozen  solid 
most  of  the  time.  I  should  think  one's  Mother  might 
allow  him  to  hold  the  screen  door  open  on  Christmas 
and  in  other  non-fly  seasons,  without  spoiling  his 
enthusiasm  in  wrong  doing.  One's  Mother  doesn't, 

however. 

234 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  235 

It  is  quite  thrilling  to  feel  a  train  moving  with  you 
aboard,  headed  for  your  Daddy.  It  is  so  absorbing 
that  your  eyes  grow  dreamy,  and  the  collection  of 
waving  relatives  on  the  station  platform,  naturally 
jump  at  the  conclusion  that  the  expression  is  caused 
by  parting  with  them.  It  isn't.  Little  children  do 
not  mean  to  be  cruel,  but  the  meanest  sort  of  train- 
car  can  beat  any  weeping  grandparent  on  earth  for 
holding  one's  attention.  Sorry.  It  seems  to  have 
been  so  for  many  generations.  I  don't  know  what 
little  boys  liked  better  than  grandparents  before  there 
were  train-cars.  But  once  a  train-car  beat  out  Miss 
Clara  Cummins,  which  ought  to  prove  to  you  the 
truth  of  my  statement  that  a  train  is  fascinating. 

I  am  sorry  about  Grand-dad's  automobile,  I  am 
sorry  about  the  sand-pile,  I  am  sorry  about  the  little 
brown  house  on  the  prairie,  I  am  sorry  about  1 1 90, 
I  am  sorry  my  Mother  is  too  tired  to  cry,  I  am  sorry 
one's  relatives  grow  so  attached  to  one  that  they 
have  dull  pains  in  their  hearts,  but  I  must  say  I  like 
to  be  going  somewhere  once  in  a  while! 


236  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Bgi  Eg) 

OS  ^^BS 

Between  us  and  Father,  there  seem  to  be  great 
wastes  of  unimproved  property,  with  prairie-dogs 
always  popping  out  of  holes  and  barking  at  the  engine. 
My!  but  the  world  is  big!  I  got  a  tiny,  tiny  glass  of 
water  in  the  dining  car.  A  big  black  man  gave  it  to 
me.  Mother  smiled  as  she  discovered  it  was  a  whiskey 
glass.  I  like  black  men,  for  you  will  notice  that  black 
men  like  little  children.  Miss  Cummins  was  black. 

On  the  train  Mother  and  I  had  a  game.  She  would 
start  it  by  saying  "I  say  Mother,  not  Mummah!" 
"Mine  says  Mummah!"  I  would  reply,  looking 
at  her  just  as  humorously  as  she  looked  at  me. 

In  this  manner  we  passed  endless  ant-hills  and  real 
hills,  cowboys  and  lonesome  looking  ranches,  far 
apart.  It  is  nice  to  have  a  steady  joke  with  one's 
Mother — one  of  those  easily  understood  jokes  that 
adds  interest  unto  itself  with  every  repetition,  and 
which  is  no  particular  tax  on  the  intellect.  I  would 
not  call  her  Mother  for  the  world.  It  would  mean 
too  much  to  her.  If  I  did  this,  she  might  kiss  me  in 
public,  or  there  might  be  tears  of  gratitude  in  her  eyes 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  237 

for  my  having  allowed  her  to  suffer  so  much  for  me! 
I  think  too  much  of  her  to  spoil  her  fun  in  imagining 
that  a  baby  is  not  worth  while.  She  might  be  just 
unstrung  enough  to  fancy  herself  repaid  for  some  of 
her  sleepless  nights  or  something,  if  I  ever  called  her 
Mother.  You  won't  catch  me  taking  any  careless 
chances  with  gratitude — I'm  no  physician!  Mummah 
is  a  very  good  name,  I  think,  for  a  lady  who  has  set 
herself  dead  against  joy.  Don't  you? 

I  think  I  understand  women  a  little,  but,  naturally 
I  would  think  so,  being  a  man-being.  Women 
economize  too  much,  which  is  the  result  of  their  making 
money,  by  saving  it.  Women  have  to  count  the  cost, 
which  often  mars  the  pleasure  of  possessing  things. 
The  cost  of  joy  is  great — so  heavy,  in  fact,  that  most 
women  can  feel  only  the  awful  price.  Very  sorry. 
It  has  been  so  forever,  almost. 

I  was  entertained  to-day  by  a  nice,  fat  old  gentle- 
man, who  leaned  forward  into  our  section,  and  said 
in  a  friendly  way  to  Mother,  "What  are  you  going 
to  make  of  this  little  boy,  when  he  grows  up,  madam?" 


238  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Now  you  would  suppose,  wouldn't  you,  that  this 
question  would  require  some  deliberation?  But  no, 
not  at  all!  Mother  glanced  up  from  her  magazine, 
and- answered,  quick  as  a  flash,  "I  am  going  to  make 
a  success  of  him,  sir." 

It  fairly  took  my  breath  away.  I  see  clearly  what 
lies  ahead  of  me!  It  begins  to  dawn  upon  me,  why, 
ever  since  I  was  a  youngish  person  of  eighteen  months' 
age,  I  have  been  expected  to  keep  my  toys  in  their 
proper  place,  and  why  I  am  not  allowed  to  tear  up 
books.  If  my  Mother  has  this  alarming  idea  in  her 
head,  why,  I  shall  not  be  allowed  to  day-dream,  as 
she  has  day-dreamed! 

A  success  of  me?  Eh?  Horrible!  I  was  hoping 
she  would  say  she  would  make  a  Pullman  conductor 
of  me,  if  I  were  good! 

The  nice,  fat  old  gentleman  dropped  into  one  of 
our  seats,  as  you  might  know  he  would  have  to  do 
after  such  a  statement,  "And  how  will  you  make  a 
success  of  him,  madam?"  he  continued,  smiling  over 
the  top  of  his  glasses. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  239 

"I  will  teach  him,  so  far  as  I  am  able,  the  qualities 
that  tend  toward  success.  And  if  my  own  influence 
falls  short  of  the  mark,  I  will  bring  to  bear  other  in- 
fluences along  the  same  lines." 

Possibly  you  think  I  was  not  surprised! 

The  old  man  was  a  stranger  to  us,  and  had  made 
a  casual  remark  in  passing,  but  he  evidently  had 
struck  a  serious  chord,  and  it  amused  him  quite  as 
much  as  anything  else  would  have  done. 

Mother  says  she  thinks  about  all  there  is  to  Life 
is  to  be  entertained,  so  she  instantly  detected  the  old 
man's  wish  to  be  diverted  And  whether  she  meant 
all  she  said,  or  not,  she  was  ready  to  help  him  kill 
half  an  hour — and  he  was  a  nice,  Santa  Claus  sort 
of  person,  I'll  say  that  for  him.  I  stopped  trying  to 
extricate  the  eye  of  my  Teddy  Bear,  and  began  to 
take  notes,  while  sitting  in  the  aisle,  in  everybody's 
way — my  favorite  position,  always. 

"Well,"  began  the  old  man,  readjusting  his  glasses, 
"this  is  most  interesting!  Are  you  going  to  make  a 
lawyer,  a  doctor,  a  soldier  or  a  merchant  of  the  boy?" 


240  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

"I  shall  leave  the  choice  of  a  calling  to  the  boy 
himself,"  she  replied. 

"Oh?"  he  asked,  amused.  "So  all  you  volunteer 
to  do,  is  to  make  a  success  of  him,  is  it?" 

"And  isn't  that  enough?"  she  asked. 

"Why  are  you  so  bent  on  his  being  a  success?"  he 
went  on. 

"Because  /  have  always  been  a  failure,"  my 
Mother  answered. 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  probed. 

"Absolutely." 

But  my  Mother  smiled  at  the  delicate  flattery  in 
the  old  man's  accent.  Ladies  always  smile  at  flattery. 
P.  S.  Also  men.  Still  once  yet — and  babies,  too! 

They  had  quite  a  talk,  but  I  did  not  follow  it 
closely,  I  was  too  much  engaged  in  thinking.  It 
had  occurred  to  me  ere  this,  that  if  I  dared  to  stand 
before  my  Mother,  good-for-nothing,  she  would, 
with  her  own  hands,  take  that  iron  buckle  from  her 
own  throat  and  put  it  on  mine.  Furthermore,  my 
Mother  would  press  it  in. 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  241 

JH g| 

Being  my  Father's  son,  and  in  consequence  a 
gentleman,  I  would  not  raise  my  hand  against  what 
she  honestly  believed  to  be  right.  Perhaps  things 
would  have  been  less  complex  for  me,  if  my  Mother 
had  not  failed  at  singing  printed  Lullaby  es?  It 
would  seem  to  the  average  intelligence,  as  though  no 
reproduction  of  my  parents'  bad  qualities  is  to  be 
tolerated  in  me.  It  is  enough  to  turn  one  white!  It 
would  seem  fairer,  rather,  that  the  failings  presented 
to  one  by  inheritance,  should  be  coddled  because 
they  have  been  in  the  family  so  long  that  everyone  has 
grown  fond  of  them.  No  day-dreaming,  eh?  Work 
—that  is  what  is  ahead  of  me! 

Ha!  I  have  to  smile.  I  have  often  wondered 
what  lay  in  the  one  little  sentence  that  Mother's 
Special  Physician  spoke — that  one  about  "a  naturally 
good  mentality  allowing  itself  to  become  a  hypochron- 
driac."  I  see  now  what  was  in  it,  besides  words. 
Power  was  in  it.  Or  was  it  bluff?  And  what  is 
the  difference  between  power  and  bluff,  if  the  result 
is  the  same  thing?  And  there  is  something  in  my 


242  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Mother's  simple  statement  that  she  is  going  to  make 
a  success  of  me,  that  makes  me  nervous.  There  is 
more  in  this  than  words.  You  would  appreciate 
this,  if  you  ever  saw  my  Mother  check  my  tendency 
to  howl  when  I  fall  down  and  get  dented. 

Oh,  well!  I  suppose  thoroughness  is  one  of  the 
qualities  that  must  be  developed  in  anyone  who  is 
destined  to  be  a  success,  so  I  stopped  worrying,  and 
went  back  to  work  on  my  Teddy  Bear's  eye.  I 
think  I  can  get  it  loose,  in  time. 

Mother  says  that  a  woman's  particular  vocation 
in  Life,  is  flattering  men  into  thinking  they  amount 
to  something.  Now  persons  of  helpless  age,  like 
the  ladies,  are  not  supposed  to  have  any  idea  of  logic, 
but  let  me  remark,  please,  that  if  my  life  is  to  be  tagged 
by  my  Mother's  flattery,  I  might  as  well  begin  right 
now  to  enjoy  my  prosperity! 

I  have  heard  it  said,  with  sadness  by  those  who 
know,  that  there  is  quite  a  wait,  as  a  rule,  between 
the  beginning  of  a  career,  and  the  first  casual  gasp  of 
recognition — "How  interesting!"  Some  of  the  world's 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  243 

most  earnest  and  gifted  workers  never  hear  the  little 
remark  until  they  are  so  old  they  have  to  catch  it 
through  an  ear-trumpet.  I  should  judge  I  have  al- 
ready made  the  right  start — and  my  reward,  "How 
interesting!"  is  sure  to  come,  because  I  caught  my 
Mother  saying  to  herself,  "Is  there  just  a  possibility 
that  I  would  have  greater  strength  to  handle  this 
child,  if  I  went  to  work  at  this  late  day,  and  actually 
accomplished  the  things  I  have  always  failed  in 
doing?" 

Heavens!  I  wonder  if  she  is  going  to  take  up  scales 
at  thirty?  If  she  ever  does  turn  back  and  carry  out 
her  resolutions,  well,  what  way  out  of  success  is  there 
left  for  me? 

My  Mother  has  nerves.  She  is  very  modern. 
If  you  don't  believe  me,  put  sugar  on  your  meat  some- 
time, and  observe  the  expression  on  her  face  when 
she  sees  to  what  degrading  depths  you  have  sunk. 
Personally,  I  like  sugar  on  my  meat.  I  tried  it  in 
the  dining  car  this  evening — but  not  for  long.  Dear 
Mother!  She  says  a  woman  ought  to  be  an  idea,  or 


244  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

a  dream  or  a  memory — never  a  contrivance  for  bring- 
ing up  little  boys!  Considering  how  badly  she  feels 
about  it  all,  I  think  she  is  doing  fairly  well  with  me, 
however.  You  would  have  thought  so  yourself,  I 
am  sure,  had  you  seen  the  porter  carrying  out  the 
sweetened  meat.  Butter  on  grapes  is  no  more  popular 
— I  have  tried  that,  too. 

The  only  crusts  I  like,  are  those  that  grow  on  choco- 
late cake.  Other  crusts  I  do  not  eat,  because  I  save 
them  for  my  Mother. 

I  think  I  know  what  ails  my  Mother.  She  has 
an  "artistic  temperament."  P.  S.  This  is  a  pretty 
bad  disease  when  it  gets  a  good  start,  but  it  isn't 
catching,  and  I  doubt  its  ever  breaking  out  in  me. 
Mother  doesn't  take  it  so  awfully  seriously  in  herself, 
but  it  would  be  no  laughing  matter  for  me  to  affect 
it!  Not  muchy!  Sugar  on  meat  is  worse  for  artistic 
temperaments  than  it  is  for  nerves,  and  it  is  bad  enough 
for  nerves.  The  taste  of  it  is  a  matter  of  opinion. 
People  cannot  always  agree,  even  though  relatives 
and  loving.  Why  should  they? 


CHAPTER  XIX 

QUITE  as  we  had  anticipated,  we  arrived  at 
last.      Daddy  seemed   strange  after  all  the 
months  we  had  been  apart,  but  his  pride  was 
warming.     I  haven't  seen  anyone  look  so  happy  since 
the  day  Father  leaned  over  my  tiny  white  iron  hospital 
crib,  sometime  ago — why,  dear  me!     It  must  have 
been  two  years  ago!     We  were  oh!  so  glad  to  see 
each  other — all  of  us. 

In  the  carriage,  Father  turned  to  Mother  with 
concern  and  said,  "This  is  a  Godforsaken  place  I 
have  brought  you  to,  dear,  just  an  over  grown  mining 
camp.  I  have  hoped  all  along  it  would  not  be 
necessary  to  live  here,  but — " 

"This  place  with  you,  is  better  than  Park  Hill 
without  you,"  Mother  reassured  him.  And  I  think 
so,  myself,  though  I  can't  help  wishing  we  had 

brought  the  sand-pile. 

245 


246  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

It  is  a  dreary  looking  place,  indeed.  There  are 
no  trees — nothing  grows  here  but  people  and  enter- 
prises. It  is  a  mining  camp  that  has  turned  itself 
into  a  town,  giving  an  appearance  of  gawkiness, 
something  like  a  half-grown  boy  with  clothes  that  are 
too  small  for  him.  Cows  wander  about,  nibbling 
at  tin  cans.  The  place  is  full  of  tin  cans,  and 
"dumps"  and  shaft-houses  and  whistles  and  sort  of 
run-down  looking  little  cottages.  Oh  yes!  And 
saloons. 

"You  will  find  the  people  charming,"  Father 
ventured,  on  our  first  walk. 

"They  would  have  to  be — if  there  were  anything 
charming  here,"  Mother  replied,  a  little  discouraged, 
I  thought. 

"There  is  a  store  that  isn't  so  bad,"  Father  hesi- 
tated, with  something  in  his  tone  that  indicated  he 
had  already  grown  to  like  the  town  enough  to  be  sensi- 
tive to  any  criticism  of  it. 

"One  can  get  a  gas  stove — I  suppose?" 

"Dear  girl!"   Father  said,   "we  have  had  about 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  247 

enough  of  struggling,  haven't  we?  But  it  will  be 
different  here.  We  certainly  can  get  a  gas  stove!" 

We  walked  on,  up  a  steep  hill,  and  saw  all  sorts 
of  industries,  like  flat-cars  full  of  timbers  for  the  mines, 
and  men  going  to  work  with  their  dinner  buckets 
in  their  hands.  At  last  Mother  spoke. 

"One  would  almost  have  to  have  a  piano  here," 
she  said.  Then  her  mind  travelled  back  to  the  time 
when  she  and  Aunty  Catherine  were  students  together, 
and  Aunty  Catherine  broke  Mother's  best  tea-pot, 
and  expressed  her  regret  thus:  "Why  worry,  Sis? 
The  world  is  full  of  tea-pots.  All  you  have  to  do, 
is  to  get  in  line  with  them!"  Mother  was  two  years 
"getting  in  line"  with  another  good  tea-pot,  but  she 
has  often  applied  Aunty  Catherine's  philosophy. 
Now  she  looked  up  at  Father,  before  he  had  time  to 
say  anything  comforting,  and  she  argued,  cheerfully, 
"I  suppose  the  world  is  full  of  pianos,  and  all  we  have 
to  do  is  to  get  in  line  with  them,  isn't  it?" 

"That's  all,  dear,"  replied  Father,  with  a  smile. 

"It  is  something  to  do,  to  get  in  line  with  the  things 


248  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

GSi H 

that  tend  toward  happiness  and  satisfaction,  isn't 
it?"  thoughtfully  suggested  Mother. 

"It  can  be  done — even  in  a  Montana  mining  camp," 
Father  said. 

We  have  taken  a  funny  place  to  live  in.  We  have 
two  dark  rooms  in  a  good  looking  building,  for  which 
we  give  twice  the  rent  we  did  for  the  Park  Hill  house. 
Out  of  our  back  window,  we  see  an  alley — a  mining 
camp  alley,  which  is,  if  possible,  a  shade  less  aesthet- 
ic than  other  alleys;  and  from  our  side  windows,  we 
see  brick  walls,  with  window  sills  decorated  by  other 
people's  lard  pails  and  milk  bottles.  We  have  a 
"kitchenette,"  in  which  there  is  a  cubbyhole-ette, 
through  which  groceries  are  supposed  to  be  shoved, 
and  lean  janitors  wriggle,  when  you  go  out  without 
your  key. 

Besides  the  cubbyhole-ette,  we  have  a  gas  stove- 
ette,  a  table-ette,  and  an  icebox-ette  that  will  hold 
as  much  as  four  egglets  and  a  pound  of  butter.  Mother 
is  afraid  that  one  day  I  will  play  with  the  icebox- 
ette  and  mislay  it.  In  truth  we  shall  never  get  into 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  249 

anything  smaller  than  our  kitchenette,  until  we  are 
laid  into  a  coffin-ette.  And  hot?  Don't  mention  it! 

They  have  some  nicer  rooms  in  the  building,  but 
other  people  got  into  them  first.  Places  to  live  in 
in  mining  camps  are  difficult  to  get,  you  see,  because 
the  town  is  always  so  very  full-up  with  people  who 
regret  having  to  live  there.  We  are  having  our 
troubles  stowing  away  our  belongings.  Father  says 
he  sees  no  way  to  fit  us  into  two  rooms  and  a  kitchenette, 
except  by  giving  up  business  and  sitting  and  holding 
the  superfluous  things.  Mother  hunted  up  the  man- 
ager of  the  building  and  asked  for  the  key  of  the  store 
room  belonging  to  our  apartment. 

"The  store  room?"  the  manager  asked,  in  a  puzzled 
way.  "Why,  madam,  there  are  no  individual  store 
rooms  in  the  building.  We  did  not  count  on  there 
being  any  demand  for  them  when  constructing  the 
block." 

"Really?"  said  Mother  politely.  "Well,  then, 
no  doubt  we  can  use  the  main  store  room?  Where 
is  that?" 


250  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

si m 

"The  main  store  room?"  queried  the  manager. 
"Why,  there  is  no  main  store  room!  We  supposed 
when  the  building  was  planned,  that  the  tenants 
would  prefer  keeping  their  possessions  in  their  own 
flats." 

Later  on  Mother  went  down  to  the  office  with  a 
wringer  in  her  hand.  "May  I  trouble  you  once 
more?"  she  ventured,  civilly,  keeping  her  eye  on  me 
the  while.  "Where  is  the  laundry?  I  simply  cannot 
do  anything  further  toward  getting  settled  until  I 
get  this  obstruction  out  from  under  foot.  Moving  is 
fearfully  trying,  isn't  it?" 

"The  laundry?"  the  manager  repeated,  vaguely. 
"Why,  let  me  see — we  have  in  camp  the  Troy  Laun- 
dry, the  French  Hand  Laundry,  the  C.  O.  D.  Laun- 
dry, the — 

"Yes,  yes,"  Mother  interrupted,  "but  I  mean  the 

washing     room     here — our     private     laundry,     you 

if 
see. 

"Oh!"  A  light  broke  in  upon  the  manager. 
"There  isn't  any  laundry  here,  madam.  In  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  251 

beginning,  it  never  occurred  to  us  that  the  tenants 
would  care  to  be  bothered  with  their  own  washing 
and  ironing.  We  have  made  no  provision  for  such 
things." 

"I  see,"  Mother  replied,  weakly,  holding  the 
wringer  in  one  hand,  and  keeping  a  tight  grip  on  me 
with  the  other.  "But  what  do  your  tenants  do  about 
their  laundry  work?" 

"I  can't  say,  I  am  sure." 

"Well,  we  will  take  the  elevator  back  with  our 
laundry  implements,"  Mother  smiled. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  walk  up  to-day," 
the  manager  told  her.  "The  building  is  new  and 
we  are  having  some  trouble  with  the  automatic 
elevator  at  present.  But  we  have  sent  to  Denver 
for  the  necessary  things  to  repair  it,  and  it  will  be 
running  soon!" 

There  is  one  thing  about  this  camp  I  imagine  we 
might  as  well  realize  one  time  as  another,  and  that 
is,  we'd  best  take  it  as  it  is,  without  a  struggle. 
It  is  a  very  self-satisfied  place,  and  if  you  remark 


252  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

upon  any  of  the  extraordinary  ways  of  doing  things, 
or  the  princely  price  of  ice  (which  is  one  of  the 
few  things  that  grows  naturally  here),  all  you  get  is 
a  patronizing,  "Well,  you  see  the  conditions  are 
very  different  here  from  what  they  are  in  most  places!" 

If  we  put  the  wringer  on  the  gas  stove,  it  might 
bend  the  stove,  it  is  such  a  frail  stove  and  such  a 
healthy  wringer.  The  wringer  will  not  look  well 
hung  above  any  of  our  oils.  The  problem  is  serious. 
Maybe  if  we  get  a  China-boy  to  wash  for  us,  he  will 
accept  the  wringer  as  a  gift.  Also  the  wash-board, 
also  the  clothes  pins,  also  the  irons,  also  the  ironing- 
board,  also  the  boiler.  In  the  meantime,  the  laundry 
implements  may  sleep  with  me,  if  they  like.  I  am 
used  to  having  my  little  cold  iron  train-cars  at  the  pit 
of  my  stomach,  and  my  cement  blocks  tucked  under 
my  cheek. 

Father  came  in  from  the  office  to-day  and  found 
us  considerably  black-and-blued  from  trying  to  cir- 
culate around  our  rooms.  We  were  somewhat  dis- 
couraged concerning  the  disposition  of  three  barrels 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  253 

of  china,  four  trunks  of  clothes,  a  center  table  weep- 
ing under  its  load  of  books,  pictures  stacked  three 
deep  all  around  the  room,  to  say  nothing  of  five 
Teddy  Bears  and  cooking  utensils. 

Mother  looked  up  pleasantly  and  said,  "Do  you 
know,  Richard,  there  is  one  thing  I  am  sure  I  am  going 
to  like  about  this  place?" 

"Good!     What  is  it,  dear?" 

"There  is  no  one  here  who  is  apt  to  insult  me  about 
Martha's  having  married  whom  she  pleased  and 
when  she  wished!" 

"Life  has  its  compensations,  after  all!"  decided 
Father. 

If  we  ever  had  any  idea  of  having  a  piano  in  this 
apartment,  we  might  as  well  face  the  fact  that  it 
would  be  quite  as  easy  to  have  this  apartment  in  a 
piano.  As  it  is,  the  place  looks  like  the  back  room 
of  a  Fourth  Avenue  antique  dealer's  in  New  York. 
And  Father  says  all  we  need  to  complete  the  effect, 
is  a  price  mark  on  the  bits  of  bricfy-brah  that  are 
clinging  on  the  narrow  plate-rail. 


254  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

We  have  almost  as  many  neighbors  as  belongings. 
Each  neighbor  has  a  sewing  machine,  a  piano  or 
other  instrument  of  disturbance,  and  a  baby.  Some 
of  them  have  more  than  one  baby.  Our  mining 
camp  home  is  as  modern  in  its  disadvantages  as  any 
kitchenette  apartment  in  New  York  City,  built  on 
precious  ground,  leased  for  a  period  of  ninety-nine 
years,  for  a  sufficient  sum  to  admit  of  the  daughters 
of  the  owner  marrying  into  the  British  aristocracy. 
And  plain  ground  to  build  comfortable  houses 
on  out  here,  is  another  thing  that  grows  freely, 
too. 

We  are  going  to  have  a  party.  I  heard  Mother 
say  that  the  guests  were  to  be  given  a  new  game  to 
play  in  place  of  bridge.  She  is  going  to  ask  the  ladies 
to  come  at  the  dinner  hour,  when  all  of  the  wooden 
shutters  are  open  from  the  kitchenettes,  and 
the  gases  and  odors  which  would  explode  the 
galleys  if  kept  in,  are  let  out  into  the  main 
halls.  She  is  going  to  give  the  correct  guesser 
of  the  number  of  smells  between  the  front  entrance 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  255 

and  our  apartment,  a  prize.  The  prize  will  be  the 
wringer. 

A  second  prize,  consisting  of  two  and  a  half  barrels 
of  china  and  junk,  and  all  of  the  books  and  some  of 
the  pictures,  will  be  awarded  the  lady  who  guesses 
the  exact  number  of  noises  that  interfere  with  the  con- 
versation. 

A  consolation  prize  of  all  the  uneasy  bricfy-brah 
that  always  quivers  lest  the  ship  is  going  to  roll  the 
other  way,  will  be  presented  to  the  lady  who  makes 
the  nearest  guess  as  to  the  number  of  times  the  auto- 
matic elevator  will  move  out  of  five  tries. 

Assorted  souvenirs,  consisting  of  the  miscellaneous 
things  we  constantly  stumble  over,  will  be  distributed 
among  those  not  winning  a  prize,  so  that  there  will 
be  no  hurt  feelings. 

Lastly,  to  her  who  succeeds  in  getting  into  the  bath 
room,  and  out  again,  without  a  burn  from  the  steam 
pipes,  a  "well  appointed  repast  will  be  dispensed." 

After  the  party,  I  think  we  shall  be  less  wretched, 
yet  it  does  seem  cruel  to  live  where  glorious  moun- 


256  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

ESS" (Si 

tains  are  to  be  seen,  and  still  gaze  out  upon  other 
people's  milk   bottles. 

If  we  stay  here,  the  janitor  (if  he  stays  here)  will 
be  getting  Father's  high  hat.  We  really  need  rub- 
bers, but  unless  we  wear  them  to  bed,  I  don't  know 
where  we  could  keep  them.  Perhaps  it  is  just  as 
well  we  did  not  bring  the  sand-pile,  after  all.  The 
Fire  Ordinance  might  have  objected  to  any  fur- 
ther clogging  of  the  way  out. 


CHAPTER  XX 

IF  you  shove  a  jar  of  preserves  off  the  ledge  out- 
side a   window,   and   it  goes  four  stories  down 
onto    an    asphalt-paved   area,   it   will   not   only 
spill  the  preserves,  but  will  probably  smash  the  jar. 
Also,  a  silver  cup  accidentally  dropped  from  the  same 
window  onto  the  same  landing,  will  get  a  dent  in  it. 
(The  same  result  will  be  noticeable  if  you  drop  the 
cup  on  purpose).     I    know    these    things,    because 
to-day  I  made  my  own  experiments. 

I  am  improving  every  opportunity  to  speak  English 
better.  I  came  to  the  breakfast  table  this  morning  with 
one  of  my  Father's  collars  on  my  head,  announcing 
that  I  was  a  king;  and  to  show  that  I  appreciated  the  full 
meaning  of  the  crown,  I  said  to  them,  impressively, 
"Mine  is  not  going  to  eat  any  more  aiggs!" 
I  am  fond  of  the  same  old  answers  the  up-growns 

give  to  those  of  us  who  are  yet  small.     I  often  nag 

257 


258  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

my  Mother  on  some  familiar  subject,  just  to  see  if 
it  is  possible  she  has  anything  new  to  say  in  reply. 
To-day  when  she  was  busy  I  began  one  of  my  favorite 
chants,  "Mine  wants  candy,  candy,  candy!  Mine 
does  want  candy,  candy,  candy — candy!" 

No  answer  at  all.  I  repeated  the  chant  dozens  of 
times,  until  at  last  the  veins  stood  out  on  my  Mother's 
forehead.  She  tried  not  to  notice  me,  so  I  began  to 
whine.  This  she  refused  to  hear,  so  I  began  to  cry. 
But  had  her  heart  stopped  beating,  then  and  there, 
she  would  not  have  softened  sufficiently  to  regard 
my  demand  seriously.  She  has  a  theory  that  if  she 
lets  me  alone  long  enough,  I  will  grow  tired  of  the 
sound  of  my  own  voice.  But  she  reckons  without 
my  ego.  I  adore  the  sound  of  my  own  voice! 

When  I  felt  she  was  quivering  and  about  to  scream, 
or  jump  out  after  the  preserves,  I  smiled  my  heavenliest 
smile,  and  said,  "Mummah,  say — 'No,  sonny,  I 
fwaid  not  to-day!"' 

I  wonder  if  it  ever  has  occurred  to  up-growns  that 
Life  for  little  children  has  its  dull  spots?  Why  should 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  259 

m Gi 

it  be  taken  for  granted  that  we  are  always  amused? 
Indeed!  The  Mother  of  one  is  more  apt  to  be  un- 
playing,  than  not.  Not  knowing  how  to  play  her- 
self, she  does  not  teach  us  how  to  play.  We  are 
supposed  to  be  born  knowing  how  to  play,  but  we 
are  not.  The  things  that  Mother  teaches  me  are 
the  things  not-to-do. 

Sometimes  I  amuse  myself.  I  bury  my  head  in 
sofa  cushions  and  announce  that  I  am  lost.  I  direct 
the  search  of  me,  telling  them  to  look  in  the  kitchenette. 
There  is  a  quaint  stupidity  in  the  up-growns — they 
often  touch  my  bare  knees  when  getting  down  to  look 
under  the  couch,  but  they  seldom  see  me  until  I  tell 
them  where  I  am. 

It  has  been  Christmas  again.  My  Mother  was  hurt 
because  I  preferred  the  picture  of  a  train-car  on  the 
box  which  contained  handkerchiefs,  to  the  hand- 
kerchiefs themselves.  Of  course.  What  do  you 
suppose?  She  did  not  buy  the  handkerchiefs  to 
please  me,  did  she?  She  bought  them,  hoping  I 
would  now  let  her  fine  ones  alone.  It  was  a  silly 


260  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

hope.     Most  hope  is  silly.     The  picture  was  nice, 
though. 

I  have  had  a  professional  hair-cut,  too.  I  look 
neat,  but  unnatural,  and  we  haven't  found  any  anti- 
dote yet  that  will  kill  the  perfume  they  put  on  my  head. 
Soap  won't  phase  it.  Time  may.  I  wonder  how 
that  wild-boar-sticking  janitor  is — he  who  under- 
took to  cut  my  hair  in  Park  Hill?  I  wager  he  knew 
what  happened  to  "Sport."  Don't  you? 

At  my  age,  Life  has  great  responsibilities.  Honor 
compels  me  to  step  on  every  coal-hole  and  gas-trap 
in  Camp.  All  horse-blocks  must  be  climbed,  steps 
and  copings  walked  upon,  hitching-posts  poked  in 
the  ribs,  and  all  fences  touched.  I  have  set  a  fashion, 
too. 

They  have  put  a  harness  on  me,  with  bells  on  the 
breast-band,  and  I  can't  run  away  from  the  frozen 
parent  driving  me.  Many  people  looked  after  me  at 
first,  and  those  who  did  not  say,  "Look  at  those  rosy 
cheeks!"  said,  "Say,  Mamie,  ain't  that  a  good  idea?" 
And  before  you  would  have  thought  of  such  a  thing, 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  261 

there   were  a  lot  of    youngsters  being  taken  out  on 
straps  or  in  harness. 

I  fancy  we  must  be  a  distinguished  family.  Father 
once  had  a  cocktail  named  after  him,  which  you  can 
still  get  at  the  Casino  in  Central  Park,  by  asking 
for  it  by  his  name.  Mother  once  started  to  be  a 
singer,  worked  five  years,  and  got  as  far  as  the  start. 
And  I,  their  son,  have  set  a  fashion! 

Father  says  that  if  what  I  do  that  is  wrong,  does 
not  hurt  me,  he  will.  All  I  have  to  say  is,  he  needn't 
worry.  What  I  do  generally  gets  in  ahead  of  him  in 
the  matter  of  punishment.  I  threw  an  empty  vanilla 
bottle  into  a  group  of  cuddling  cups  and  saucers  on 
a  shelf  in  the  kitchenette,  to-day,  and  a  piece  of  the 
broken  dishes  flew  rudely  back  at  me  and  hit  my 
nose.  I  only  threw  the  bottle  because  Mother  called 
out  to  me,  "What  are  you  doing  out  there,  dear — some- 
thing naughty?"  I  was  not  doing  anything  at  all 
at  the  moment,  but  I  argued  that  if  she  would  be 
any  better  pleased  by  having  her  expectations  ful- 
filled, I  would  do  what  I  could  for  her. 


262  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Remarkable,  isn't  it,  that  when  smashing  one  cup 
and  one  saucer  out  of  a  lot  of  dishes,  one  never,  by 
any  possible  chance,  breaks  the  cup  and  the  saucer 
that  belong  together?  He  ruins  the  cup  of  one  pair 
of  twins,  and  the  saucer  of  another,  thus  rendering 
useless  the  whole  lot.  Who  planned  Life,  I  won- 
der, and  if  so,  why?  And  it  is  strange  to  observe 
how  little  a  cook  can  do  with  two  ounces  of  vanilla, 
and  how  much  a  baby  can  do  with  a  two-ounce 
vanilla  bottle!  Again,  if  it  isn't  asking  too  much — 
why? 

I  have  to  piggy  my  toes  every  night,  and  it  takes 
a  long  time,  especially  if  there  is  any  hurry  to  get  me 
to  bed.  "Son!"  this  often  comes  from  Father, 
"haven't  you  finished  with  those  little  pigs  yet?  That 
big  toe  has  been  sent  to  market  seventy-five  times  at 
least!" 

"Bym-bye,  Daddy,"  I  reply  with  sweetness  of 
manner,  "ist  you  wait!" 

My,  but  ladies  are  un-difficult!  All  you  have  to 
do  to  succeed  with  them  is  to  know  the  hotv.  If  you 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  263 

humbly  ask  them  to  do  what  you  want  them  to,  they 
will  invariably  say  no.  To  illustrate:  To-day  I 
marched  up  to  my  Mother  with  some  nuts  in  my 
hand  (persons  with  comparatively  new  digestive 
apparatuses,  are  not  supposed  to  be  fed  nuts),  and 
instead  of  whimpering  for  them,  I  looked  my  Mother 
in  the  eye,  like  a  man,  and  said,  "Ope  them,  wif  you 
please?  Mine  will  chew  them  well!"  Believe  me 
— with  the  ladies,  assume  a  victory  and  you  have 
it  won!  P.  S.  It  is  all  silly  bosh  about  what  nuts 
will  do  to  you. 

Dear  oh  dear!  This  having  to  fumble  for  the 
commonest  words  is  positively  wearing!  This  after- 
noon, while  Mother  was  trying  to  un-snarl  herself 
in  the  kitchenette  (having  attempted  to  squeeze  in 
between  the  stove-ette  and  the  table-ette  to  straighten 
up  the  stove-pipe-ette,  and  inadvertently  become 
stuck),  I  was  flirting  with  the  persons  belonging  to 
the  opposite  milk  bottles. 

"How  old  are  you,  little  boy?"  they  called  across 
the  court. 


264  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

|g ,g| 

I  hung  my  head  and  blushed.  I  knew  what  they 
meant,  but  I  had  no  words.  I  did  not  forget,  however, 
the  disadvantage  of  my  position,  and  I  listened  to  all 
that  was  said  of  me,  hoping  to  gain  the  knowledge 
that  I  needed  in  regard  to  myself.  One  day,  in  the 
public  hall,  about  a  week  after  my  embarrassment,  I 
heard  my  Mother  tell  a  neighbor  my  age.  I  could 
hardly  wait  for  her  to  unlock  the  door  to  our  apart- 
ment, I  was  so  eager  to  set  myself  right  with  the  new 
friends  across  the  way. 

"Girls!"  I  called  to  them,  beating  upon  our  glass. 
"Girls,  come  to  de  win'ow!  Mine  can  say  it  now, 
Mine  can  say  it  now!  Dicky  Carr  is  two  and-er  half!" 
It  will  bring  a  smile  when  you  grow  down  into  a 
little  boy,  if  you  swagger  through  the  sitting  room  and 
glance  at  your  Mother  severely  and  say,  "Be  careful 
of  dat  book,  Mummah!"  If  this  does  not  work,  then 
await  your  opportunity,  and  in  imitation  of  the  up- 
grown  methods,  turn  upon  your  Mother  and  remark 
with  infinite  wisdom,  "Mine  Vises  you  not  ter  monkey 
wif  de  tea-kettle — it's  hot!" 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  265 

m n 

I  see  that  what  I  have  feared,  has  come  to  pass.  We 
can't  stand  this  apartment  any  more.  There  isn't 
any  place  for  me  to  play  but  the  fire  escape  four  flights 
up,  which  is  so  full  of  places  to-fall-off-of,  that  we  are 
frantic  with  apprehension.  Even  with  the  young 
girl  to  take  me  out,  we  can't  live  here. 

I  never  had  the  slightest  respect  for  Fredricka. 
She  is  so  tame-catty  that  I  often  sit  down  in  my  harness, 
right  in  the  Principal  Street,  and  when  she  tries  to 
drag  me  to  my  feet,  I  slip  through  her  hold  like  a 
sack  of  meal  without  a  sack.  Certainly.  Nowadays, 
when  we  come  in,  Mother  greets  us  with,  "How 
did  Dicklet  behave  to-day,  Fredricka?" 

"Well,"  she  drawls,  a  general  air  of  exhaustion 
being  wrapped  about  her,  "pretty  good.  He  didn't 
sit  down  on  me  more'n  five  or  six  times." 

I  never  sat  on  her  at  all.  I  sat  on  a  coal-hole. 
This  will  show  how  much  sense  some  people  have! 

Policemen  are  nice — they  wink  at  you  when  you 
pass.  I  have  also  a  large  nudging  acquaintance 
among  the  newsboys.  And  cab-drivers  are  jolly,  too. 


266  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

They  say  things  to  me  like,  "Whoa,  Emma!"  when  I 
come  down  the  hill  on  a  dead  run,  with  Fredricka, 
looking  like  a  thin  pain  with  its  hat  on  crooked, 
hanging  onto  the  lines.  I  like  to  run  Fredricka  all 
over  this  Camp.  It  amuses  the  camp,  and  is  good 
exercise  for  Fredricka,  who,  by  the  way,  says  her 
health's  giving  out,  and  she  thinks  she  will  look  for 
another  place.  Glad  of  it,  personally.  I  can 
"buffalo"  Fredricka,  but  it  is  harder  to  "buffalo" 
Mother.  To  buffalo  is  a  Western  verb,  and  a  good 
one,  although  the  same  thing  goes  on  all  over  the 
world,  under  different  names.  In  Boston  they  would 
probably  say  that  I  "took  advahntage"  of  Fredricka. 
It's  the  same  game  everywhere. 

Well,  we  are  moving  into  another  apartment,  where 
we  see  tall  mountains,  instead  of  other  people's 
milk  bottles.  We  have  to  heat  the  house  with  stoves, 
because  this  is  the  way  they  used  to  heat  the  cabins, 
when  the  camp  first  started.  What  was  good  enough  for 
the  pioneers,  is  considered  good  enough  for  the  fol- 
lowers-on.  It  is  stoves — or  the  kitchenette  building 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  267 

we  are  leaving,  and  this  block  is  so  modern  that  you 
have  to  spend  too  much  time  in  the  automatic  eleva- 
tor between  floors.  One  might  as  well  carry  coal. 
You  have  your  choice  of  steam  heat  and  milk  bottles, 
or  stoves  and  mountains.  If  you  don't  care  for  either 
combination,  you  don't  have  to  stay — nobody  asked 
you  to  come  in  the  first  place. 

The  new  home  has  a  yard,  wherein  I  shall  be  ex- 
pected to  play.  O  trusting  up-growns!  Wouldn't 
you  suppose  they  would  realize  that  I  have  already 
resolved  to  cut  the  yard,  and  play  on  the  car-track? 
This,  of  course,  when  I  am  not  hanging  over  the 
balcony  railing,  just  about  to  drop  on  my  head. 

Our  furniture  got  very  rough  usage  coming  five 
blocks,  more  damage,  in  fact,  was  done  to  it,  than 
has  been  done  in  shipping  it  all  over  the  United 
States.  When  Mother  spoke  to  the  "boss"  about 
his  placing  a  bedspring  where  the  corner  wore  a  hole 
in  the  top  of  my  great-grandmother's  desk,  he  smiled 
the  camp  smile,  and  said,  patronizingly,  "Say,  lady, 
what  do  you  expect  in  a  place  like  this,  anyway? 


268  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

This  here  way,  is  the  way  we  always  does  things, 
and  if  you  don't  like  the  idea  of  goods  rubbing  against 
each  other,  why  to  thunder  did  you  pack  away  your 
bed-cloz?  We  most  generally  uses  'em  for  padding, 
when  folks  is  extra  particular!" 

The  stove-ette  was  tied  down  in  the  kitchenette 
we  left,  being  the  property  of  the  building,  so  we  have 
now  paid  an  old  five  dollar  bill  on  a  new  gas  stove 
for  this  apartment.  The  clerk  at  the  Gas  Company's 
office  asked  Mother  what  model  she  wanted,  and  she 
replied  that  the  model  was  immaterial  to  her — the 
finish  was  always  the  same.  She  was  being  funny, 
or  pathetic,  or  something — but  the  gas  man  did  not 
know  it. 

The  strain  of  the  long  winter  months  in  those  dark 
rooms,  has  been  bad  for  Mother,  and  she  has  the  nerves 
once  more.  She  does  not  sleep,  and  to  hear  me 
making  unnecessary  noises  nearly  drives  her  mad. 
Naturally,  I  won't  play  in  the  yard.  When  I  grow 
tired  of  the  house,  I  whine.  I  like  to  write  letters  to 
my  Grandmother  on  the  painted  floors  with  a  tack, 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  269 

Egg Cga 

as —  — Es 

but  this  meets  with  cold  lack  of  sympathy.  I  only 
meant  to  make  things  attractive  in  our  new  home 
when  I  cut  many,  many  tiny  bits  out  of  the  linoleum 
with  the  potato  knife.  But  up-growns  do  not  always 
interpret  one  correctly.  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Grand- 
dad on  the  bath  room  wall  with  a  red  pencil.  This 
was  the  crisis.  I  got  all  that  had  been  due  me  for 
something  over  a  week.  It  was  enough. 

The  hammer  is  lost. 

A  few  warm  days  have  come,  and  the  gentleman 
who  lives  down  stairs,  having  been  in  a  state  of  hunger 
for  the  sight  of  something  growing,  planted  a  lawn 
on  the  foot-and-a-half-by-width-of-the-house  that  con- 
stitues  our  front  yard.  He  all  but  sat  out  there  and 
held  the  lawn's  hand  to  encourage  its  growth  last 
autumn,  they  say;  and  as  a  result  there  are  several 
blades  of  real  grass  there  these  April  days.  Well,  I 
collected  three  of  these  blades  and  fed  them  to  the 
baby  belonging  to  the  lawn.  They  almost  choked 
her  off  the  census.  Very  sorry.  But  I  did  not  sup- 
pose she  would  be  such  a  thoughtless  girl  as  to  take 


270  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

them  down  the  wrong  pipe,  when  so  many  up-grown 
persons  have  tried  the  same  thing  before,  and  pro- 
nounced it  a  failure.  I  like  her,  though. 

We  are  living  a  pleasant  life,  I  think.  Every  once 
in  a  while  some  Marcelle  Waves  and  Dinner  Jackets 
come  here  to  have  a  bite  to  eat  with  us.  Among 
them  is  one  I  love.  The  first  time  he  came  to  us 
was  when  we  were  just  moved  in,  and,  as  a  special 
favor,  we  let  him  lift  trunks  and  find  a  roost  for  the 
wringer.  I  was  in  bed,  as  I  usually  am  when  there 
are  guests,  but  he  came  into  my  room,  and,  although 
he  seemed  embarrassed,  he  leaned  over  and  kissed 
me.  I  put  my  arms  around  him  and  hugged  him 
tight.  They  call  this  nice  man  Cortlandt. 

"Uncle  Cortlandt"  has  an  automobile  that  he  drives 
so  fast  you  don't  know  he  is  on  his  way,  until  he  has 
been  sometime  gone.  I  stand  at  our  window  and 
watch  the  hill  that  belongs  in  our  street,  hoping  that 
he  may  scoot  down  it.  I  adore  the  scooting  of  Uncle 
Cortlandt's  machine.  Every  time  he  comes  to  our 
house,  this  Uncle  by  courtesy  kisses  me,  and  when 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  271 

I  meet  him  in  large  places  like  the  hotel  dining  room, 
or  the  Country  Club,  I  rush  up  and  put  my  arms 
around  him.  He  is  fussed,  but  still  I  feel  the  warmth 
of  his  affection  for  me.  I  may  be  vain,  but  I  believe 
he  would  rather  have  the  kiss  of  me,  and  the  discom- 
fort of  knowing  people  were  smiling  at  him,  than  to 
be  unnoticed  among  the  many,  without  the  kiss.  I 
worship  Uncle  Cortlandt — he  cuts  in  ahead  of  Grand- 
parents, and  stands  next  to  train-cars. 

"Uncle  Worth"  is  another  one  who  is  near  to  me, 
but  he  is  not  quite  so  near  as  Mr.  Cortlandt,  because 
he  is  not  so  afraid  that  I  will  kiss  him — and  so  afraid 
that  I  won't!  He  is  a  wee  bit  jealous  of  my  adoration 
of  Uncle  Cortlandt,  which  helps  his  cause  a  lot.  He 
is  not  my  real  uncle — he  is  just  my  real  friend.  But 
Uncle  Worth  sold  his  automobile,  which  detracts 
from  any  man's  attractions. 

Uncle  Cortlandt  found  a  toy  motor-car  in  New 
York  that  is  modeled  after  the  lines  of  his  own  machine, 
and  he  sent  it  to  me.  At  the  next  meeting  of  Marcelle 
Waves  at  our  house,  after  the  arrival  of  my  car,  they 


272  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

made  a  race  track  of  the  dining  table  and  had  some 
speeding,  allowing  me  to  sit  and  see  the  fun,  although 
I  had  my  nighty  on  and  my  red  felt  slippers.  But 
something  went  wrong  with  the  bowsprit  or  some- 
thing, and  one  of  the  Dinner  Jackets  put  the  car  on 
the  floor  and  tried  to  crawl  under  it,  the  way  Uncle 
Cortlandt  does  under  his  car,  to  see  what  the  matter 
was.  It  was  fairly  funny,  because  the  car  was  six 
inches  high,  and  the  Dinner  Jacket  was  six  feet. 

Father  and  I  had  a  fine  ride  in  the  Cortlandt  car 
at  the  Country  Club  one  day.  The  horse-power 
was  asleep,  and  one  tire  was  sick — it  had  a  bandage 
on  it,  though  I  know  Uncle  Cortlandt  did  not  mean 
to  hurt  it.  Father  steered  the  machine,  and  a  crowd 
of  nine  ragged  little  caddies  pushed  us  three  times 
around  the  club  house.  On  the  third  lap,  we  tooted 
very  hard,  and  the  owner  dashed  out  of  the  building 
and  yelled  to  us  that  we'd  better  look  out — he'd  charge 
us  for  nine  caddies  for  three  rounds!  Gracious— 
we  could  not  afford  it!  We  have  to  pay  for  a  gas 
stove — but  maybe  Uncle  Cortlandt  doesn't  know? 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  273 

Besides  a  gas  stove,  we  have  a  new  Doctor.  He's 
Mother's.  I  am  glad  she  has  him,  but  the  other  night 
when  I  wanted  him  because  I  had  the  croup,  he  was  not 
to  be  found.  I  asked  my  Mother,  why,  if  she  couldn't 
get  the  Doctor,  she  didn't  send  for  Uncle  Cortlandt. 

And  some  people  try  to  say  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  faith  cure! 

Mother's  Doctor  does  not  take  her  very  seriously. 
He  frankly  tells  her  she  has  a  bad  case  of  "ego  and 
altitude,"  like  so  many  people  here  who  live  at  too  high 
a  pressure.  Mother  asked  the  Doctor  if  he  did  not 
think  it  might  be  a  good  idea  for  her  to  take  up  the 
piano  again — (my!  I  dread  this!) — and  he  replied 
sweetly,  that  he  always  felt  it  was  better  for  a  woman 
to  pound  the  key-board,  than  to  hammer  on  the  fair 
reputation  of  her  friends! 

And  what  do  you  think?  A  piano  has  come  to 
us!  When  we  had  about  given  up  all  hope  of  ever  hav- 
ing one,  a  friend  called  us  up  and  asked  if  we  would 
not  take  his  as  a  favor  to  him — he  did  not  want  to 
store  it. 


274  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m m 

All  Mother  had  to  do  to  get  a  piano,  after  all,  was 
simply — to  wait.  Men  work  for  what  they  want; 
women — wait.  But  possibly  it  is  work,  and  hard 
work,  for  some  natures  to  wait?  I  daresay.  I  haven't 
thought  of  this  before,  but  it  may  be  so. 


THERE  seems  to  have  been  a  good  deal  of 
thinking  going  on  at  our  house  lately,  on  the 
part  of  my  Mother.  I  have  caught  her  men- 
tally considering  several  things,  principally  myself. 
I  am  growing  very  hard  to  direct — I  see  it  myself — 
and  being  very  strong,  and  having  my  attention  con- 
centrated on  my  own  purposes,  it  is  no  easy  task  to 
make  me  do  the  right  thing.  If  there  is  a  weak  spot 
in  the  up-grown  whose  will  is  lined  up  against  mine, 
I  find  it.  I  am  hard  to  defeat.  My  Mother  is 
realizing  this,  and  it  is  just  dawning  upon  her  that 
the  very  traits  of  character  she  has  blamed  for  her 
own  failure,  are  going  to  beset  her  again,  and  even 
worse  this  time,  in  bringing  me  up. 

The  same  little  tendency  Mother  always  had  to 
day-dream — that   same  wee,  vague  notion  that  with 

or  without  her  own  efforts,   everything  would  turn 

275 


276  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

^ffij  "~  "'"r"  J  "    '  ' "  ' "  RES 

out  well  in  the  end,  is  still  part  of  her.  When  her 
career  was  in  the  making,  she  used  to  allow  every 
available  influence  to  interfere  with  the  tiresome, 
daily  routine  of  work.  She  had  no  system,  but  in 
its  place — hope,  or  something  equally  indefinite. 
It  all  comes  back  to  her  in  me.  A  Mother  cannot 
shirk  the  daily  exercise  of  forming  a  baby's  character, 
any  more  than  a  singer  can  the  daily  routine  of  vocal 
exercises.  It  does  not  suffice  to  work  one  day,  and 
then  lose  interest  for  three,  and  take  up  the  struggle 
again,  but  lamely,  on  the  fourth.  And  so,  to  do  the 
simple,  right  thing,  day  after  day,  whether  one  feels 
inclined  or  not,  is  harder,  much,  than  a  brilliant 
spurt  of  achievement  now  and  then.  A  now-and- 
then  method  with  persons  of  helpless  age,  spells 
failure,  indifferent  results,  and  even  worse  things. 

My  Mother  has  vowed  to  herself  that  she  will 
make  a  success  of  me.  But  how  can  she,  if  I  am  able 
to  wear  her  out  and  defeat  her  on  every  point?  And 
it  is  child  nature  to  put  forth  untiring  effort  to  this  end. 
Sometimes  it  takes  my  tired  Mother  one  hour,  or 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  277 

F33  JSS3 

g§ gg 

more,  to  make  me  pick  up  a  piece  of  paper  that  I 
have  thrown  on  the  floor.  At  the  end  of  the  day, 
she  is  exhausted,  and  there  seems  to  be  nothing  to 
show  for  the  energy  she  has  expended.  It  is  too  easy 
for  Mothers  to  give  up,  or  compromise  on  all  issues 
with  their  children,  or  to  carry  their  points  by  superior 
physical  strength,  and  then  it  is  hard  for  them  to  con- 
sider the  picture  they  have  made  in  condescending 
to  this  way  of  doing  things. 

I  can  see  that  it  is  not  at  all  a  path  of  roses  to  be 
the  Mother  of  one. 

On  Wednesday  the  cat  got  a  bath.  So  did  the 
bath  room!  On  Thursday  she  got  a  hair-cut  that  she 
did  not  thank  me  for.  On  Friday  she  left  us.  Sorry. 

My  Mother  does  not  know  how  much  I  see  into 
her  mind.  To-day  we  had  a  long  and  painful  session 
about  my  wish  to  poke  the  eyes  out  of  all  the  pictures 
in  one  of  my  books.  Mother  won,  but  she  looked 
faint  when  at  last  she  sank  onto  the  couch  and  I,  whim- 
pering (a  thing  that  in  itself  stifles  her),  put  the  book 
away,  without  her  having  had  to  lay  hands  on  me. 


278  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

Mother  looked  at  me,  steadily,  with  tearless  eyes 
full  of  awful  discouragement.  Her  lips  did  not 
move,  but  the  words  in  her  mind  were,  "I  wonder  if 
I  could  make  you  do  what  you  ought  to  do,  easier, 
if  I  had  ever  done  it  myself?  I  wonder  which  will 
cause  me  the  more  discomfort,  to  watch  you  make  a 
failure  of  yourself,  step  by  step,  or  to  turn  back  now 
and  make  a  success  of  myself,  step  by  step,  so  that  I 
can  gain  the  power  to  make  you  amount  to  something? 
And — and  I  wonder  if  it  is  possible —  here  a 
slight  flush  covered  her  paleness,  "I  wonder  if  I  could 
bluff  it?" 

Silly  hope!  I  stopped  tearing  out  a  bit  of  fringe 
from  the  edge  of  the  rug  at  her  feet,  and  looked  her 
in  the  eye,  honestly.  It  was  just  one  of  the  little 
things  that  children  do,  without  any  appreciation 
of  their  significance.  My  Mother  leaned  forward 
and  looked  down  at  me.  This  time  her  lips  moved, 
and  she  said  in  words,  "I  don't  believe  anybody 
in  this  world  will  ever  be  able  to  deceive 
you,  and  maintain  the  stand  any  length  of  time 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  279 

m s 

—you  are  too  clever.  You  see  through  me  this 
minute!" 

We  smiled  at  each  other,  a  comprehending  smile, 
and  one  full  of  exquisite  affection.  We  never  hold 
our  scenes  against  each  other.  Good  idea,  too. 

And  if  you  will  believe  me,  a  most  terrifying  thing 
followed!  My  Mother,  nervous  and  exhausted  from 
our  problems,  slowly  got  to  her  feet,  and  from  her 
desk  she  unearthed  a  book  of  piano  notes,  on  which 
it  said  "Exercises  in  Velocity."  She  opened  it  at 
the  first  page.  She  made  a  start,  and  three  bars  out, 
she  struck  a  discord.  She  jumped  from  her  chair 
at  the  piano,  as  though  some  unseen  hand  had  put 
a  knife  in  her,  and  threw  her  hands  over  her  face. 

"Matter,  Mummah?"  I  inquired,  full  of  genuine 
concern. 

"The  matter,  my  son?"  she  repeated,  bitterly. 
!<The  matter  is  this:  I  not  only  played  the  chord 
wrong,  but  I  made  exactly  the  same  mistake  I  made — 
and  left — seven  years  ago." 

I  daresay  it  would  have  been  the  decent  thing  in 


280  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

me  to  have  let  the  over-wrought  Mother  alone,  but 
again,  this  is  not  the  child's  way.  She  turned  back 
to  the  piano,  and  this  time,  truly,  I  thought  she  might 
have  hysterics,  the  struggle  was  so  intense.  But  I 
was  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  jerky,  tuneless  exercises. 
I  begged  for  candy,  and  threatened  to  run  away  in 
the  rain,  and  pulled  at  her  forearms,  and  swung  on 
the  back  of  her  chair.  Indeed,  I  took  this  occasion 
to  be  quite  full  of  demand,  criticism,  and  com- 
plaint. I  interrupted  in  every  way  known  to  persons 
of  helpless  age,  and  we  know  many  that  fill  the  up- 
grown  soul  with  madness. 

Over  and  over  again,  did  my  Mother  try  the  finger 
exercises,  each  time  making  them  worse  listening 
than  the  time  before,  and  the  while  I  tormented  her. 
At  last  her  patience  utterly  deserted  her,  and  she 
whirled  on  me,  like  a  tigress. 

"Dicklet!"  she  cried,  "can't  you  understand  I  am 
doing  this  for  ijouP" 

I  trembled,  for  it  did  seem  as  though  an  awful 
spanking  were  about  to  descend  upon  me,  but  I  am 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  281 

no  coward.  I  refused  to  take  a  backward  step.  All 
of  a  sudden  the  un-difficultness  of  ladies  occurred  to 
me.  I  fancy  this  knowledge  came  only  just  in  time 
to  save  my  life. 

"Mummah,"  I  pleaded,  "Mine  ist  only  came 
over  here  by  the  piano  to  get  a  kiss — and  Mine  must 
have  it!" 

I  got  it.  One  always  does.  Bym-bye,  when  we 
had  a  fine  rock  together  in  the  big  chair,  my  Mother 
said,  softly,  "Dicklet,  won't  you  try  to  say  Mother — 
not  Mummah?  It  would  help  so  much,  really!" 

"Mine  says  Mummah!"  I  replied,  with  a  smile. 
It  had  been  some  time  since  we  had  had  a  round  at 
our  old  game.  Her  answer  was  a  sigh.  But,  sorry 
as  I  am,  I  still  think  Mummah  a  good  name  for  a  lady 
who  likes  to  wear  iron  buckles. 

The  feet  can  be  got  off  tin  soldiers,  if  one  is  per- 
sistent enough  in  his  efforts  to  amputate  them.  I 
thought  you  might  like  to  know. 

I  have  some  new  white  kid  gloves  from  Cousin 
Martha — just  like  Uncle  Cortlandt's  only  smaller. 


282  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

m H 

Uncle  Cortlandt's  ears  get  nice  and  red  when  I  kiss 
him.  I  heard  him  say  once  that  there  were  a  few 
children  in  the  world  that  he  would  keep  trouble  off 
of,  if  he  could.  I  think  I  am  one  of  them,  but  I  am 
not  certain  whether  or  not  he  was  referring  to  my 
white  gloves  when  he  said  "trouble."  I  wore  them 
to  a  party  the  other  day,  my  first  party,  and  the  strain 
was  something  serious.  When  the  hostess  came 
forward  to  greet  me,  I  held  my  white-gloved  hands 
away  from  her  lovely  frock,  her  gorgeous  pearls  and 
her  Marcelle  wave.  "Look  out!"  I  warned  her, 
sharply.  "You  might  git-turn  dirty!" 

When  Uncle  Worth  comes  to  our  house,  he  comes 
into  my  room  and  kisses  me,  even  if  I  am  asleep, 
because  he  knows  that  in  the  morning  I  will  ask  my 
Mother  if  he  did.  It  is  nice  of  Uncle  Worth,  and  if 
he  would  only  buy  back  that  automobile  of  his,  and 
let  his  ears  get  a  cheerful  red  once  in  a  while,  why- 
why,  maybe  I  would — yet  no!  Not  even  then — 
not  quite!  But  Uncle  Worth  stands  next  to  Uncle 
Cortlandt,  anyway. 


anb  3  toent  out  for  a  toalk  tobap,  tottfj 
onlp  eac!)  otfjtr  Page284 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  283 

m @ 

I  fell  off  a  chair  the  other  day,  hard.  I  meant  to 
shriek,  in  spite  of  the  cold  reception  received  by 
shrieks  in  our  family,  but  I  saw  Mother  open  her 
mouth  to  make  her  customary  remark,  and  so  I  said 
it  for  her.  "Fr'even's  sake!"  I  stormed  at  myself. 
"That  chile  will  kill  heself,  yet!"  But  this  did  not 
help  the  bump  any. 

One  would  think  that  this  threat  of  Mother's  to 
fortify  herself  to  do  justice  to  me,  was  about  enough 
to  happen  at  one  time.  But  there  are  other  things 
happening,  too.  It  is  almost  as  active,  our  life,  as  a 
moving  picture  show.  Well,  the  worst  is  just  this; 
our  little  plan  to  live  Life  safe,  has  taken  a  tumble, 
just  like  the  one  I  took  from  the  chair.  Yes.  After  all 
of  our  efforts  at  being  sure  we  were  doing  the  best 
thing  in  coming  to  this  camp  to  live,  bag  and  baggage, 
Father's  employer  has  failed.  Isn't  it  too  bad?  For 
us,  this  means  another  gas  stove  and  another  physi- 
cian to  get  away  from,  another  horror  of  a  week  with 
people  boxing  up  everything,  but  the  things  you 
want  most,  like  the  car-tracks.  It  means  more  train- 


284  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

cars,  and  another  start.  For  me,  it  means  going  away 
from  Uncle  Cortlandt.  Uncle  Worth  won't  have  me 
to  kiss.  Mother  says  she  will  never  again  allow  her- 
self to  grow  attached  to  people  in  general,  physicians 
in  particular,  places,  or  gas  stoves.  I  suppose  she 
will  get  over  this,  though. 

Father  has  once  more  gone  away  to  the  far-off, 
and  left  us.  Mother  and  I  went  out  for  a  walk  to- 
day, with  only  each  other.  We  sat  on  the  edge  of 
a  prospect  hole,  a  little  way  out  of  town,  and  thought 
things  over.  The  great  V/estern  mountains  loomed 
up  all  around  us,  almost  as  if  they  wanted  to  hold  us 
here.  The  lean  cows  that  wander  about  the  camp 
nibbling  at  the  pebbles  that  lie  around  where  grass 
would  grow  in  other  places,  seemed  important  to  us. 
The  wrecked  shaft-houses,  standing  out  gaunt  and 
lonely  against  the  sky-line,  seemed  a  part  of  us — and 
we  a  part  of  them.  An  automobile  horn  suggested 
Uncle  Cortlandt,  and  he  brought  up  a  mental  picture 
of  Uncle  Worth,  who  recalled  other  people. 

I  like  the  China-boy  who  takes  our  washing.     He 


A  like 


our 


THE  LIFE  OF  ME  285 

m eg 

BS  — Ss 

is  only  teasing  about  carrying  me  off  in  his  basket! 
He  would  not  do  it — oh  no! 

Mother's  heart  was  trying  to  tell  her  that  we  would 
rather  sit  and  hold  the  wringer  between  floors  in  that 
automatic  elevator  we  once  left,  than  to  have  to  go 
away  from  all  the  Marcelle  Waves  and  Dinner 
Jackets,  and  the  Country  Club,  and  the  mountains. 
But  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  go  where  our  living 
is,  wherever  that  may  be.  We  were  having  a  bad 
attack  of  ego  and  altitude  out  on  the  edge  of  that 
prospect  hole. 

I  looked  at  my  Mother  closely.  The  lines  about 
her  mouth  were  tightened,  and  her  eyes  were  partly 
closed  as  she  gazed  off  toward  the  hills.  I  touched 
her  cheek,  but  she  did  not  heed  me. 

"Mother?"  I  said,  and  the  word  was  as  well 
pronounced  as  though  you,  yourself,  had  said  it. 
"Mother?" 

She  whirled  on  me  almost  fiercely,  her  hands  on 
the  ground,  for  she  was  still  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the 
prospect  hole.  "What  did  you  say?"  she  demanded. 


286  THE  LIFE  OF  ME 

@ m 

"I  said  Mother!"  I  told  her,  and  in  stooping  to 
kiss  her,  I  touched  her  throat. 

The  iron  buckle  was  gone!  Gone,  too,  was  that 
merciless  cloak  that  only  she  and  I  know  she  has 
worn.  And  I  knew  they  would  never  come  back,  not 
even  on  windy  nights.  I  don't  know  why  I  knew, 
but  yet,  I  knew.  And  I  was  full  of  gladness. 

"Say  that  again!"  she  commanded  me. 

"Molherr 

She  took  me  by  the  shoulders,  and  looking  me 
through  and  through,  she  said  to  me,  "Son — you 
win!  I  give  up — you're  worth  while — a  thousand 
times  worth  while!  I  was  only  waiting  for  you  to 
say  my  name  before  I  owned  it,  but  I  knew  the  truth 
all  the  time." 

If  I  have  won,  and  she  who  is  Daddy's  little  girl 
and  my  Mother,  keeps  me  at  winning,  why — I  fancy 
there  really  isn't  anything  further  to  say  of  the  life  of 
me — is  there? 


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